


Three is a Crowd (and six is a love story)

by Lecavayay, verbaeghe



Series: Nowhere, Oklahoma [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Connor is a brat but we love him, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Multiple, Some Humor, Tampa Bay Lightning, gratuitous cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: Three Russians fall out of the woods. That's the start of a joke, right?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this sure happened fast. As always, this fic is complete and we'll be posting a chapter every so often (there's only 4 this time but the word count is still ridiculous so, do not despair).

“Where the sam hill did these three Russians come from?” Connor says out of nowhere, beer halfway to his lips.

The group of guys quiets. Vladdy shifts in Nikita’s lap, Taylor’s arm stretches out along the back of Boris’ chair. Tony and Misha are halfway leaned in to kiss. “Uh…”

“Well, um.”

“It’s sort of a long story...”

“Does it look like we’re going anywhere?” Connor slips a hand into Carter’s back pocket and pulls him down onto a bar stool.

“Guess it sure don’t,” Carter drawls with a little smile.

Vladdy sits up a little straighter. “Well. You know those woods? The ones that line the east side of the town, out by--.”

“My shack,” Nikita adds.

“Yes, out by his shack.”

Connor and Carter nod.

“Well,” Vladdy continues. “That’s where the story begins.”

Vladdy knows that they’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere, so it’s sort of a surprise when they fall out of the woods next to a shack. With a garden. That has a guy standing in the middle of it and glaring at them.

“We just need help, please don’t shoot us,” he shouts, not sure if he has a gun but covering all his bases.

Boris whines when they start moving again, barely putting any pressure on his left foot as they walk toward the man and his garden. It was a complete accident that they’re even in this position and Vladdy desperately hopes there is a hospital nearby.

“Can you call 911 for us?” he asks the man. “He needs to get his ankle checked.”

The man narrows his eyes.

“Please, we don’t mean to bother you,” Misha tries, holding up Boris’ other side. He’s sunburnt across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Ornery.

“Fine,” the man says. “You set him down. I’ll call.”

They watch him scuttle back into his house before lowering Boris to the ground. “He better not be getting his shotgun,” he says, hissing before finding a comfortable way to sit.

“Just put us out of our misery,” Misha grumbles.

Vladdy punches him in the arm. “Shut up.”

The man, who may or may not be an actual hermit, returns to the garden. It’s possible he brushed his hair while inside. “I’ve called. They’re on their way.”

“Thank you,” Vladdy says. “We really appreciate it.”

“How, uh...how did this happen?”

“We’re idiots,” Boris says.

“Speak for yourself,” Misha snips.

“He fell down a well. And we had to pull him back up.”

“Someone really needs to build a barricade for that thing,” Boris says. “It’s a fucking hazard.”

The hermit man seems to look sorry for a moment. “No one comes out here. No reason for a barricade.”

Misha huffs and starts to pace up and down the garden rows, right between the lettuce and peppers. Boris pokes at his ankle and complains.

“Maybe don’t touch it,” Vladdy says.

“Would you like some ice?”

“Yeah. Yes, please,” Boris says. “That’d be really nice. Thanks.”

The man disappears back into his house with haste.

“Well, I don’t think he’s going to shoot us,” Vladdy says.

“Small mercies,” Boris agrees.

The man returns, settles the ziplock bag of ice cubes on Boris’ foot. Vladdy is 90% certain he changed his shirt.

“I think I hear it,” Misha says, tilting his ear toward the road.

Sure enough, the sound of sirens gets louder and Vladdy can see the flashers come up over the hill.

The two EMTs jump out of the cab of the ambulance, pull a gurney out of the back, and rush over.

“Who are we here for?” the first guy asks, brushing perfect golden brown hair out of his face. His nameplate reads N. Valleau.

They collectively point at Boris.

“Alright, let’s get you up.”

The gurney clicks into place once Boris is strapped in.

“I don’t think there’s enough room for all four of you in the back,” the other EMT says, checking that Boris is secure. “We’ve got another passenger.”

“I can drive you,” the hermit man says.

“R-really?” Vladdy’s eyes go wide. “Thanks! That’s...that would be great.”

The EMTs are wheeling Boris to the ambulance when a very loud _bleat_ comes from the back.

“Was that…”

“Uh…”

“What the _fuck_?” Boris yells. “Don’t put me in there with that!”

Vladdy and Misha rush over to see that, yes, in fact, there is a goat in the back of the ambulance.

“What kind of backwoods…” Misha starts.

“Oh, yeah,” N. Valleau says. “This is Greg McKegg.”

“The goat has a first _and_ last name?”

“There was a contest,” he clarifies. “It was the winning name.”

They lift Boris up and slide him into the back with Greg, who immediately lays his head on Boris’ shoulder.

“He seems nice,” Vladdy says.

Boris narrows his eyes but Vladdy is spared his snippy reply when the EMT slams the doors closed.

“We’re taking Greg to the animal hospital first, so you can follow or go straight to Nowhere General.”

Misha opens his mouth but Vladdy beats him. “Oh, we’re going to the animal hospital. I’ve got to see this.”

He follows the handsome hermit man over to his truck and climbs in first, taking the middle seat. He has to fit a leg on either side of the console and his knee accidentally brushes the man’s. “I’m Vladdy, by the way.”

He turns over the engine before shaking Vladdy’s hand. “Nikita.”

“Thanks again for doing this.”

“Didn’t think we’d be chasing a goat,” he grumbles.

“Me either,” Misha agrees from the passenger seat, arms folded across his chest.

Vladdy doesn’t mind at all. This might be the most fun he’ll have in this pit of a town. He’s going to enjoy every moment.

Nikita’s truck bounces along the dirt road and Vladdy makes no effort to stop himself knocking into him. They hit a pothole and Vladdy nearly ends up half in his lap.

“Should have buckled your seatbelt,” Nikita says, both hands firmly on the wheel.

Where’s the fun in that, Vladdy thinks, smiling to himself.

The vet isn’t too far from Nikita’s place, surprisingly, and an absolutely unremarkable brown-haired guy is standing outside ready for them. Nikita parks in one of the proper lot spaces to wait.

Vladdy watches with glee as the vet tech steps into the ambulance and exits with Greg. “Thanks for doing this. I could’ve come grabbed him myself but there wasn’t anyone to cover the desk.” He turns to Greg now, index finger pointed to reprimand. “I thought we talked about eating clothes. Shirts and socks are not food.”

Vladdy makes Misha get out of the truck so he can go over and glance into the back of the ambulance. He sees Boris glaring at a cluster of holes along the hem of his shirt. He looks so disgruntled at the fact that Vladdy has to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing out loud at the scene.

The goat bleats at him and the vet tech guffaws. “That is a fair argument.”

“How’s Verhaeghe?” N. Valleau asks conversationally.

“Still hotter than you,” the tech replies.

Vladdy raises his eyebrows and wonders if he’s about to see a throwdown right over a goat.

N. Valleau sighs. It’s a small, content thing. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Sure ‘nough.” The tech smiles, and Vladdy is almost ready to take his previous unremarkable assessment back. He peers over at the beat up old truck they rode over in, their rescuer still sitting in the driver’s seat.

Then again, maybe not. Comparatively.

“They’re ready to go, if you’re through staring at the hermit man’s truck.”

Vladdy blinks back to Misha and then to the ambulance, which the EMS are climbing back into.

Oh, shit. He sprints for the truck. Misha follows him at a slower pace.

“Hurry up!”

Misha, if possible, walks even slower.

“Don’t be a bitch ass, ” Vladdy hisses his way once he’s back in the passenger seat with the door closed.

“I hate you.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“What if I hate you both and leave you on the side of the road?” Nikita says, speeding to keep up with the ambulance.

Vladdy widens his eyes Misha’s way before apologizing. The last thing he wants to do is upset Nikita after he’s been so nice.

Nikita paces the ambulance all the way to the ER doors and Vladdy and Misha jump out to follow the EMTs as they roll Boris inside. Doctors in bright blue scrubs descend on him immediately.

“We’re going to take your friend and get him settled in a room. Someone will come let you know when you can see him.”

Vladdy smiles at the nurse and goes to find a seat in the waiting room. “Oh. You don’t have to stay,” he says to Nikita, who apparently parked the truck in record time.

The man sits. “It’s fine. I...don’t get out much so, this is good. Fine.” He picks up a magazine off the table and flips through some of the pages.

Vladdy’s pleased. He likes this guy. Likes his kind of scary blue eyes and the very small smile he flashes his way, hidden under all that beard.

He picks up his own magazine and waits.

It’s a few hours before a very tall, very broad, adonis of a nurse comes out calling for “Vladislav Names-- uh, is there a Vlad here?”

Vladdy raises his hand. “That’s me.”

The nurse smiles. “Boris is all settled, you can see him now.”

Vladdy kicks at Misha. “Wake up.”

Misha snuffles but sits up. “Huh?”

“Boris is ready.”

They follow the nurse, who introduces himself as Taylor, to a room tucked in the back of the hospital. Boris is propped up with some pillows, rapidly clicking through channels on the tiny TV.

“You’re alive!” Vladdy yells, rushing over to obnoxiously hug him.

Misha flops down into one of the chairs in the room.

“The doctor said it would be best to keep him a couple days due to the dehydration,” Taylor says, flicking through Boris’ chart and initialling something. “We’ll get him an x-ray tomorrow to see what’s going on with the ankle. Visiting’s over in a couple hours.”

Shit. “We can’t just stay here?”

Taylor smiles. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in a bed somewhere. We’ll take good care of Boris for you.”

“You think Frank will cover a hotel?” Misha asks.

“You can ask him.”

“Just see if the hermit man will let you stay,” Boris says, switching over to Russian. “He’d probably like your company.”

“Are you whoring me out?” Vladdy asks, scoffing.

“I saw the way you were looking at him.”

“You were flirting in the truck,” Misha adds. “You stay with him, I’ll find a hotel.”

A knock on the doorframe of Boris’ room draws their attention. “Uh, I’m looking for a Boris, Vladislav, and Mikhail?”

“You’ve found us,” Misha says. “What can we do for you, officer?”

The policeman steps fully into the room. He’s young, probably no older than any of them, and in his full uniform. He pulls out a small notepad and a pen. “We got a trespassing call and I just need a statement from you three.”

“Trespassing?”

“Nikita,” Vladdy sighs. Guess that rules out staying with him.

“It was a false call.”

They all turn to face the door.

“I, uh, I didn’t know who they were or that they needed help. I’m sorry,” Nikita confesses. “There was no problem, officer.”

“That’s fine. But I should take statements anyway. In case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s no bother.”

Nikita looks to be ready to argue more but Vladdy steps in. “Whatever you need, Officer...” He squints at the officer’s name tag. “Cirelli.”

“Great, let’s just step into the hall.”

They take a few steps away from Boris’ room and Cirelli flips open to a fresh page in his notebook.

“So tell me about how you found yourself on Mr. Kucherov’s land this afternoon.”

Vladdy recounts the pictures they were taking and why, the freelance job they were doing for Frank who owns a company back in St. Louis. He tells him about Boris falling down the unmarked well and the struggle of getting him out. “We were just thankful someone was around, to be honest. We didn’t mean to be a bother.”

“You said you’re from St. Louis?”

“Yes, that’s where we’re living.”

“That makes sense,” Cirelli says, almost to himself. He makes a few more notes before flipping to a new page with a wide, almost pained-looking smile. “That’ll be all. Can you send Mikhail out?”

Vladdy shouts for him before going to stand next to Nikita on the other side of the open door. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry for all this. I shouldn’t have called them.”

“Bet you don’t get a lot of strangers falling out of your woods.”

Nikita shakes his head.

“You really didn’t have to stay all this time. I appreciate it but, we can find our way around from here.”

Nikita shrugs. “Your friend, he has to stay here? Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Not yet, but.” He lets his sentence trail off. “Don’t worry about me. Us.”

“Oh.” Nikita shifts from one foot to the other, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “There’s room with me. If you need it.”

“Quit flirting,” Misha hisses in Russian. He’s apparently done giving his statement.

Nikita’s cheeks and the tips of his ears go red.

Well, with a name like Kucherov, it’s not surprising he speaks the language. “I’m not flirting,” he snips back. He turns to Nikita. “That would be nice. To stay with you, until Boris is back on his feet.”

“Are you making _foot jokes_ while I’m in here dying?” Boris shouts.

“Guess I’ll just curl up in the chair, then,” Misha says. He’s pouting.

“Well,” Cirelli says. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, I have a spare bedroom. It’s nothing much but it’s probably better than the chair.” He’s put his notebook away and is standing with his hands on his hips, holding his utility belt. “I’m not that far from here. You’ll be close.”

“Are you _both _really picking up right now?” Boris asks, flipping back to Russian. “That’s fine. I’ll just stay here.”

“Shut up,” Misha huffs. “I’m not going to sleep with the policeman.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a _policeman_.”

Vladdy smirks. “I’d probably sleep with the hermit man. Given the chance.”

“I speak Russian!” Kuch yells from outside the door.

“I know!” Vladdy yells back. “I think that’s my cue. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He holds his fist out and Boris reluctantly taps it.

“Charge your phone, you harlot,” Misha says. “Don’t let him lock you in the basement.”

Vladdy rolls his eyes on his way out the door. Nikita’s face is still flushed. “Sorry you had to hear all that.”

“No you’re not.”

He makes a good point.

The silence is pretty tense once they get back in the truck, so it takes a good fifteen minutes before Vladdy realizes that they aren’t heading back toward Nikita’s shack.

“Hey, uh, not that I’m complaining, but where are we going?”

“I’m late for practice,” is all he replies.

“What are you practicing for?” Vladdy presses.

“Not _my_ practice.”

“Oh.” Vladdy doesn’t know what else to ask that wouldn’t be repeating himself, so he just settles in, along for the ride.

Only a couple of minutes pass before Nikita is pulling into a parking spot at Jeffrey N. Vinik High School.

“Used to be Yzerman Memorial.”

“Huh?” Vladdy blinks over at him.

“They just renamed the school. After the judge,” Nikita explains. “Made a big donation.”

“Oh.” Vladdy isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with the information. “That’s nice.”

“How do you feel about hockey?” Nikita asks.

Vladdy scoffs. “I’m Russian.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Nikita pops his door.

Turns out that Nikita coaches the high school ball hockey team. And he’s really good at it, too.

Right now he’s taking a couple of kids through a power play drill. He’s calm and kind, and he’s smiled more in the last two minutes than all the other time Vladdy’s seen him up to this point.

He’s in his element and it makes him beautiful.

No. _No_. Vladdy may have joked about sleeping with Nikita, and he might normally be up for some extracurriculars, but Nikita doesn’t really seem like he’s the sort to, uh, hit it and quit it, as it were. He isn’t sure why it seems like a guy who doesn’t want anyone around him wouldn’t be up for some one night stand fun, but it’s definitely the impression Vladdy gets.

“Hey, is there something I can do to help?” Vladdy asks.

“Yeah, go put on the goalie gear,” Nikita answers, a smirk not fully hidden by his beard.

Well, Vladdy did ask.

“Ow,” Vladdy says with a grimace when he climbs back into the truck a full ninety minutes later. There’s a baseball-sized bruise forming on his inner thigh. Additionally, he’s worried about what he can’t see, because he can feel them blooming all over his body.

Maybe not on his ass, though he did land on it a time or two.

“Hey, it’s sort of late,” Vladdy starts when Nikita climbs in behind the wheel.

“”S not that late, just dinner time.”

“That’s what I meant.” Vladdy smiles. “We should go get dinner. Somewhere in town, my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Nikita says as he starts the truck.

“But I want to, because you didn’t have to let me stay with you, either.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I already have something cooking for today,” Nikita relents.

It’ll do for now.

What Nikita has cooking is a crockpot full of Moscow chicken. The scent of it fills up the whole little shack and it hits Vladdy like a wall. Nikita grins when Vladdy’s stomach rumbles.

“You miss home cooking?” he asks.

“I guess I do,” Vladdy admits. Nikita offers him a small smile, the first one that’s for _him_, and dishes him out a generous portion. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Dinner is actually pretty quiet. Vladdy doesn’t know what to say and Nikita doesn’t seem inclined to break the silence.

Oh, actually. “How did you come to be here?”

Nikita looks at him, raises his eyebrows.

“Too personal?”

He grunts, goes back to his meal.

Back to square one, then.

“I like the quiet,” Nikita says after a couple of minutes of silence.

“Is that a hint that I should shut up?” Vladdy asks, offers a small, crooked smile.

“No.” He huffs. “I mean, I came here to get away from everything. Because it’s quiet.”

There’s something about the way that he says _everything _that makes Vladdy want to pry, but he won’t. Doesn’t want to be any more rude than he’s already been. He takes the last few bites of his meal. “Let me get the dishes.”

“Leave them until morning.” He pauses. “Let me show you your room.”

Vladdy grabs his stuff from by the front door and follows him to the, well, it isn’t a hallway, really. It’s more like an alcove.

“That’s the bathroom and here’s where you’ll be staying,” he says, pointing to each door in turn.

“Thanks, I--”

“I’ll let you get settled,” Nikita says before rushing into the bathroom and slamming the door.

“Okay,” Vladdy mutters to himself, drawing out the o. He adjusts the grip on his suitcase and strides into the room. He throws himself down on the bed and is immediately surprised by how soft it is.

It’s quite a contrast to the man who owns it, for sure.

//

It’s nearly mid-morning when Vladdy wakes up. He finds the house eerily quiet and completely empty. He doesn’t know where Nikita went, there’s no note or anything...but there is some fresh baked bread on the table in the spot where he sat last night.

It tastes like heaven, to be honest.

He spends the entire day alone, not knowing what he should do or how to get anywhere. He texts Boris and Misha in turn, wants to see how they are. Boris doesn’t answer, which is probably because he’s sedated, or whatever.

But Misha? Yeah, he’s still all sorts of pissed. He has opinions on the place he’s staying, his host, the town, the _smell_ of the town. You name it, he’s ticked off about it.

Vladdy just shuts off his phone. He’ll tell Misha it died later, or something.

He’s just debating going for a walk when Nikita’s truck comes rattling up the drive. He walks down to greet him. “Hey.”

“Hi, I got some groceries,” Nikita answers.

“Well, I’ll help you take them in, but don’t forget I’m taking out out to dinner tonight.” Vladdy flashes his most brilliant smile.

It does affect Nikita, but Vladdy can’t tell if it’s good or bad. He clears his throat. “Fine, but I have to go to practice first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Vladdy says brightly

//

That night, Vladdy puts on his nicest shirt and brushes most of the dried mud off his shoes for the occasion. Nikita doesn’t tell him where they’re going and the anticipation is making him a little twitchy. He hopes they’re going somewhere nice.

“Big Number 9 Diner?” Vladdy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Locals seem to like it,” Nikita replies with a shrug as he starts for the front door.

“Alright,” Vladdy says to his back and follows after him.

“Hey, darlins, I’m Molly and I’ll be takin’ care of ya tonight.” She smiles brightly. “Start ya with a drink?”

“Coke is fine,” Vladdy says. Kuch nods, which seems to be enough for Molly, because she scribbles on her pad and promises to be right back.

Vladdy is looking over his menu when he notices that it’s gone sort of quiet in the diner. He looks up to see most everyone looking in their direction.

“What’s going on?” he asks. It seems to be the thing that makes action around them pick back up.

“They just aren’t used to seeing Nikita in town,” Molly says, returning with their drinks.

_“Oh! I remember that!” Connor interrupts. “I couldn’t believe you were there, Nikita.” He pats Carter on the shoulder. “I said as much to Carter.” _

_“It’s true, he did,” Carter says. _

_“Just listen to the story,” Nikita grumbles. _

“Maybe they just think you’re handsome,” Vladdy smiles at him.

Nikita doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just makes a general sound of disagreement.

Vladdy sighs but changes the subject and Nikita’s relieved. “So, what’s good here?”

Nikita opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t come here and has no idea, but Molly beats him to it, listing the specials along with her own personal favorite.

“Okay, I’ll have the patty melt then.” Vladdy’s eyes scan down the menu. “With cheese fries.”

“Chili cheese?” Molly asks, making a note.

“No thanks, just the cheese.”

“No problem darlin’. And you, Mr. Kucherov?”

“Just the same,” he answers while Vladdy sits up a little straighter and looks at him...more.

“You know,” he starts as she walks away to hang their order in the window, “Now that I’ve heard it again, your last name is sort of familiar for some reason.”

Nikita doesn’t groan, but he would if it wouldn’t give anything away. He’d rather Vladdy flirted with him again, because then they wouldn’t be avoiding this. “My name is pretty popular.”

Vladdy looks like he’s going to challenge him, but instead he smiles. “Did I tell you that I’m a photographer?”

“No, you didn’t,” Nikita replies. His relief almost palatable when Vladdy launches into a talk about cameras and lenses.

When Molly lays the ticket down after their plates have been cleared, Vladdy insists on paying. “I told you, my treat.”

Nikita allows it and follows Vladdy out of the diner once it’s all signed and sorted.

It’s quiet as they drive back to the outskirts of town. Nikita doesn’t usually have the radio on but he desperately wishes for it now. Vladdy’s got his head leaned against the window, breath fogging up the glass when he exhales.

It’s good. This is all fine.

He gets the key in the front lock and feels Vladdy push in behind him. He’s crowding him, walking him toward the couch as he kicks off his shoes. Nikita is about to snap at him when he reaches up and tucks a strand of unruly hair behind Nikita’s ear.

He freezes at the touch.

“What?” Vladdy asks, eyes searching Nikita’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, exhaling. “Thank you for dinner but I’ll just...I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

He races for the solitude of his room, shutting the door just a bit too harshly. He doesn’t even turn on the light, just immediately curls up under the covers of his bed. It shouldn’t be this hard to let someone in. He’s already done half the work. Vladdy is literally _in his home_.

He knows the beautiful man is interested in him, heard him say as much in the hospital. But he also knows he’s leaving and Nikita is far too scared to give his heart to someone just to watch them run away with it.

When morning comes, Nikita makes toast and brings out the homemade jam he got from the farmer’s market a few weeks ago. Vladdy isn’t up yet, but he makes a plate for him and sets it at the table as a peace offering for his ridiculousness.

It’s not long before Vladdy comes out looking soft and sleepy. He yawns and scratches his chest on his way to the toast. “This for me?”

Nikita nods.

“Thanks, man.”

It’s a little tense but Nikita guesses he deserves it. He busies himself with cleaning up his plate and putting away the jam.

“I, uh,” Vladdy starts. “I saw the arcade yesterday. On our way back. Is it any good?”

It’s terrible because it’s full of people all the time and loud and filled with games that glow in bright neon. “It’s not bad.”

Vladdy smiles and Nikita knows he’ll say yes to whatever he’s going to ask.

“Can we go?”

//

The arcade isn’t anything brand new or high tech but it is full of pinball machines and skeeball games. A bunch of high school kids are lined up around the newest addition: a game with two plastic guns and a goal of shooting as many aliens as possible.

“Please tell me they have Pac-Man,” Vladdy says, passing up some of the other newer games at the front.

Nikita has no idea but he follows Vladdy through the people and games until he stops in front of the machine he was looking for.

“I haven’t played this in _years_.” He pushes the necessary number of tokens into the slot and Nikita watches him gobble up little fruit and white dots. He’s not half-bad but does eventually lose. The game spits out a little pile of tickets.

“What next?” he asks with an expectant smile.

Nikita likes his smile. “I think I’m okay at skeeball.”

“You’re on.”

Nikita is actually very good at skeeball and absolutely destroys Vladdy at both rounds they play.

“You _shark_!” Vladdy shots, ripping his paltry few tickets from their slot. “I’m okay at skeeball,” he mocks.

Nikita laughs. Really, truly laughs. “I’m not as good at this,” he says, pointing to the air hockey table.

“Somehow I doubt that. But I’ll let you shark me again, it’s fine. You’re on.”

It turns out, they are both pretty good at air hockey. And incredibly competitive. To Nikita’s dismay, they attract a small crowd with the score tied.

“Next point wins,” some kid says. As if they didn’t know.

Nikita puts the puck down and takes aim, slapping it as hard as he can to the left so it bounces into Vladdy’s territory. It’s almost too fast to think about, pure reaction as the thin little neon puck slides from side to side until suddenly, it’s in Nikita’s goal.

Vladdy’s arms fly up over his head as he yells in victory.

Nikita would normally find it easy to be grumpy about losing, even if it is something as trivial as a game of air hockey, but in this moment, with Vladdy’s bright smile beaming his way he can’t feel much of anything other than happy.

“C’mon,” Vladdy says. “I’ll get you something nice with all my tickets.”

Nikita tries to protest but Vladdy picks out a little stuffed chihuahua with a rose on it’s collar. “Her name’s Bella,” he says, handing it to Nikita. “And I expect you to take very good care of her.”

Nikita tucks the little dog under his arm and pats her head. “Of course.”

“You want a slushie?”

The whole situation kind of comes crashing down on Nikita then. It all feels far too close to a date for him to dismiss Vladdy’s intentions. “I should get back,” he blurts. “To my garden. It’s, uh, I’ve been neglecting it and it’ll wither.”

Vladdy does a very good impression of his lettuce in the sun. “Okay.”

Nikita turns and heads for the front door. Vladdy can follow or he can stay. It’s up to him.

“Sorry,” Vladdy says, sliding in next to him. “I shouldn’t be keeping you from your normal...whatever.” He shakes his head, repeats, “Sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” Nikita says, starting his truck and putting it into gear.

Nikita carries Bella into the house and sets her on the couch. He feels Vladdy’s eyes on him, watching from somewhere over by his room.

“Should I just…”

“You can help,” Nikita offers. “If you’d like. I can show you what to do.”

“Putting me to work?” There’s a wry smile on his lips.

“No! No, I just, uh.” Nikita is really making a full-on fool of himself.

“Let me change. I’ll meet you out there.”

He nods and basically flees back outside. His garden is beautiful under the afternoon sun, fruits and vegetables and flowers all nearly in peak bloom. He’d weeded the other day and fertilized the day before that. There’s not much else to be done, actually.

“Ready!”

Vladdy looks like every country boy in Nowhere with his washed out jeans and tight white t-shirt stretched across his chest. His belt is the only tell, the buckle not nearly big enough to pass.

He looks fantastic.

“I was going to prune the green beans,” he says instead of all the other words he wants to say that are twisting up in his throat.

“Do you make bouquets?” Vladdy asks, following him down the vegetable row. “The flowers are all really nice.”

“Sometimes. Other people who are better at it come to buy them, too.” He kneels down by the beans and busies himself plucking the few dead leaves off the stems.

“I bet I could make something pretty.”

“Only if you use the clippers.” He looks up at Vladdy, which is a mistake, because the man’s eyes are stunning in the sunlight.

“Sure thing.”

Nikita goes back to pinching off leaves, moving down the row with ease. He thinks Vladdy is humming something, possibly singing, but he’s on the other side of the garden so it’s possible he’s making it up.

He makes the stupid decision to look, just to check on Vladdy, and he finds him bent over a small flower bush, ass straight up in the air, bouncing to some imaginary beat he has in his head.

Nikita accidentally snaps off a whole stem. “Shit.”

He’s got it bad.

So he tosses the stem on the ground, rubs at his face, and gets to his feet. This is all too much. He just needs to tell Vladdy to go. The hospital can accommodate him, he doesn’t need to stay in Nikita’s house.

“Oh,” Vladdy says, startled by Nikita’s approach. “You’ve got, uh. Here.” He reaches up and brushes at Nikita’s cheek. “Just some dirt.”

Nikita clenches his teeth together. God, it’s been so long since someone has touched him so casually, so kindly.

“I totally understand why you like it here,” Vladdy says, turning back to the flowers. “It’s so quiet and beautiful, and the kids you coach. I mean, they obviously love you and this is all s--.”

“You don’t have to go through all of this just to sleep with me,” Nikita cuts him off, almost growling. “You don’t have to _lie_.” He stomps off, back into his house. He reaches back to slam the door but Vladdy’s there, palm extended out to stop the motion.

“I’m not going through _anything _to sleep with you.”

Nikita pulls his shirt off. Between the sun and his rampant emotions and the look in Vladdy’s eyes he feels like he’s on fire.

Vladdy swallows, continues, “Nikita, it was a joke. I was trying to lighten the mood for Boris, I wasn’t trying to...to…”

“Are you going to come fuck me, or?”

Vladdy bites his lip, shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“I’ve tried to tell you, tried to _show _you. I don’t just want that.” Vladdy runs a hand through his hair, sighs angrily. “I want to be your friend, I want to help you here. And coaching? And anything else you want to do together. I kind of want it all.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything together?” Kuch asks, harsh. The thought of doing things with someone everyday is terrifying. He doesn’t know if he can.

“Then we won’t.” Vladdy throws the bundle of flowers he clipped. They scatter on Nikita’s floor. “I’ll go back to the hospital and hang out with Boris. You don’t have to entertain me if you hate me. Jesus.”

“I don’t…” God, Nikita can’t even get the words out. “I don’t know how to feel around you! You just came in here with your stupid face and ruined me!”

Vladdy’s eyes are ablaze, icy blue fire. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Words are hard!”

“How much clearer can I be?!”

And that’s the thing. Vladdy has been clear. Nikita knows what he wants, can see it written all over his face. “I…” He’s tired of words. Nikita rushes to Vladdy, still in the doorway backed by sunlight. He shies away, but Nikita grabs his face in his dirty hands and kisses him.

“Is this clear enough?” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.” He puts as much confidence behind that single word as he can.

Vladdy’s face breaks out into a slow smile. “Too-”

_“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Connor butts in._

_“What? I was just getting to the good part!”_

_“I wanna hear about Nurse Tay-Tay and his Russian now.”_

_“Don’t call me that,” Taylor gumbles. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With our apologies to anyone who actually works in a hospital.

Boris hates everything. 

He’s never liked hospitals. There’s something about the way that they smell, how they’re too clean and sterile. He knows that they’re supposed to be, but it’s gross. He can’t explain it, but that’s how he feels. 

Also, sitting here, useless? The absolute worst. There’s so much he should be doing back in St. Louis. He has hundreds of frames to go through, deadlines to make, and he can’t do any of that from his place in this stupid bed. That he can’t get out of. 

He just hates this whole situation. 

The part that is the worst of the whole thing is his nurse. Taylor. He’s gorgeous in that every-man ‘I could be a model but I’m stuck in a small town in the midwest’ kind of way. Boris needs the guy to be a jerk, or something, because being so kind in addition to that face is something that he doesn’t need right now. 

Speak of the devil, Mr. Stupid Handsome Face just walked in.

“And how are you feeling, Mr. Cathouk?” He asks pleasantly. It isn’t even close, but Boris hasn’t had the heart to correct him, because he’s been meaning to ask…

“Can I get a different nurse?” 

“Beg your pardon?” he asks, and isn’t that quaint.

“I just want...someone else as a nurse.” He grimaces at himself. He sounds like a dick, for sure, but he can’t sit here and look at this gorgeous unattainable guy while he’s full of all sorts of medicines that break his filter.

“I’m sorry that I’m such a disappointment, Mr. Cathouk, but I’m the only one on right now.” He does a flurry of things while he talks, checking Boris’ vitals and fluffing his pillow.

“Oh.” Boris frowns. “Well, if it has to be you, I should tell you that my last name is actually Katchouk.”

“Names aren't my strong suit, apologies again.” He pauses by the door on the way out. “Do you like chocolate pudding?”

“Yes?” 

“I’ll make sure you get some to make up for the name thing, Mr. Katchouk.” He has the audacity to _smile_ at Boris before departing.

Yeah. He hates it here.

In the morning, Boris wakes to someone fiddling with things in the room. He forgets, for a moment, where exactly he is and opens his mouth to yell at Misha. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” 

To Boris’ dismay, Taylor is the nurse on duty again. He’s checking the fluid of his IV bag and marks something down in his chart. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

Taylor’s face falls. “Are you pain?” 

“No, no. I just...don’t love having to lay around. I think I’m going stir crazy.”

“Huh,” Taylor says, putting Boris’ chart back where it belongs. “Well, after breakfast I might have a solution to that.” 

He smiles as he leaves the room and Boris grits his teeth. The guy is just unbearably nice. And pretty. 

His breakfast comes with two chocolate pudding cups and he hatefully eats both. 

As promised, Taylor returns after Boris’ breakfast tray has been taken. He’s got a wheelchair with him and Boris eyes it warily. 

“Sometimes I visit the kids in the other wing on my break. Care to join me?”

Boris weighs his options. He can stay in this bed and actively not seek out more contact with the nurse of his dreams or he could give in and let the perfect man whisk him away to go play with kids. 

Yeah, okay.

He throws the sheet off. “Let’s do this.”

Taylor braces him as he sits up and helps him unhook himself from the IV. He proceeds to help Boris hobble to the chair, which is bad enough. Taylor then proceeds to lay a blanket over his lap, makes sure his feet are covered. It’s terrible. “You want your phone?”

He considers it but, “No. Thanks.” 

Taylor smiles, _beams _really, and pushes Boris into the hall. 

The east wing has a big central room filled with Legos and puzzles and a small playhouse with a red plastic slide. There are a few kids there, running around and having a good time. There’s a little girl at one of the tables and she’s in a wheelchair just like Boris. 

Taylor parks him next to her. “Hey Savannah, how’re you?” 

Of course he knows her name. He probably knows everyone’s name. 

She smiles up at him. “I’m good, Mr. Taylor.”

“I brought my friend Boris to hang out with us today, is that alright?”

“Is he good at puzzles?” She fits another piece into its spot. 

“I’ve been known to put a few together,” he says. “What’s the picture on this one?”

“Cats.” 

It’s not very involved but the three of them take their time putting it together. Boris very much notices every time Taylor’s hand brushes his as they reach to fit their pieces in the right place. It’s incredibly distracting. 

“Here, I think this is the last one,” Boris says, handing it over to Savannah. 

“Let’s do another!” she says, now that the picture is complete.

“I think it’s story time,” Taylor says. “You wanna help me pick out the book?”

He wheels Savannah to the little bookshelf against the wall and she pulls out a thin book to hand to Taylor. He makes sure to gather all the kids before opening it and starting to read. 

Boris listens to him give each character a terrible voice, flipping slowly through each page, showing the pictures off to all of the kids sitting around him. It’s so sickeningly sweet that Boris can feel his heart trying to turn to mush. 

It’s not enough for Taylor to be pretty and kind and selfless but he’s also ridiculously good with kids. Heaven forbid he ever pick up a baby, Boris might propose to him. 

At the end of story time, most of the kids head back to their rooms. Taylor does a quick clean up of the tables and straightens up the bookshelf and pile of puzzles.

“That was really cute,” Boris confesses.

Taylor’s cheeks may or may not pink up just a bit. “I hadn’t done that book before. I think I was a little rusty.”

“Nah. You were fine.”

“Hey,” a male voice interrupts, most of his face obscured by a pile of multi-colored quilts. “Where should I drop these?”

“Oh!” Taylor says, rushing over to take half the pile. “You just missed the kids. I’ll be sure to pass them out though.” 

The quilt guy sets the rest on one of the chairs. “Thanks. I think some of ‘em turned out real good this time. We got a new fabric with cartoon animals on it.” 

“Awesome. Everyone loved the last batch.” 

_Connor butts in “Oh my god, that was me!” _

_“And you didn’t even notice I was there,” Boris says. “I see how it is.”_

_“I was busy!”_

_Boris tuts, takes a sip of his beer. _

Taylor gets a page as he tucks the last of the quilts around a kid. “The x-ray tech’s ready for you. Let’s get that ankle looked at.”

“Oh, finally.” 

Taylor doesn’t roll his eyes as he pushes Boris down the hall, but it’s a near miss. The guy is so prickly and none of Taylor’s usual tricks have softened him much. The kids helped, he thinks. And he’s determined.

There’s never been a patient he hasn’t been able to get on the good side of. 

“Here we are.” 

He puts the brake on the wheelchair and helps Boris to the exam table. The tech takes over situating Boris’ leg so Taylor gets the lead apron and lays it over his hips. “Alright?” he asks with his most charming smile.

“S’fine,” Boris grumbles.

“I’ll be in twice to reposition your foot, okay?” the older woman says. “Should just take a few minutes.” 

Taylor steps out of the room and watches her take the pictures in quick succession. 

“I’ll have the doctor come see you once the radiologist has a look,” she says, leaving Taylor to get Boris back in the wheelchair. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. “D’you want to go back to your room?”

Boris shrugs. 

“In that case…”

Taylor wheels him around the entire east wing, introducing him to the other nurses on shift and the patients he knows. They go by one of the vending machines and Taylor buys them each a Crunch bar and a cup of objectively bad dispenser coffee. 

Back on Boris’ floor, Taylor spots an abandoned wheelchair. “You think you could beat me?” 

“Hm?”

“In a wheelchair race.” 

Boris’ eyes light up. “Oh, for sure.”

“First one to the end of the hall, wins.” 

Boris takes off without waiting for Taylor to count down, crowing with delight. 

“Cheater!” He tries to catch up but nearly careens into the wall. 

Boris has his hands raised in victory before Taylor really gets any momentum. It’s nice to see him smile fully. Nice to see him laugh at Taylor’s misfortune. “Loser.”

“You don’t get to say that since you _cheated_.” He slowly rolls across the finish line. 

If this was any other situation, Taylor thinks he’d lean in. Thinks he’d put his lips on Boris’ smile just to see what it tastes like.

“Raddysh!” his supervisor shouts. “Do you have other patients?”

He stands abruptly. “Yes, sir.”

“I suggest you see to them, then.” 

Taylor pushes Boris back down the hall and into his room. 

“Sorry I got you in trouble,” he offers, carefully climbing back into bed. 

“Pfft, don’t worry about it.” He does a quick check of Boris’ fluids. “It was my fault, anyway.”

“Thanks for today.” He’s already got the remote in his hand, clicking through the channels. 

It catches Taylor off guard, makes his chest go a little warm. He slips out of the room and takes a moment to compose himself, rubbing his face until his smile dissipates. 

Taylor’s shift ends at 9 that night and he swings back by Boris’ room out of habit. He just wants to say goodbye for the night, see if he needs anything before he goes. 

He finds Boris in bed, leg propped up how it’s supposed to be, tossing Skittles into his mouth. 

“Did you get someone else to buy you those?” he asks, leaning against the open door frame.

Boris catches a red one and smiles. “I’m very charming.”

Taylor almost believes it. “How was dinner?”

“There was only one pudding.”

“Spoiled.”

He tosses a yellow and then a green skittle into his mouth, crunches down on them. “Bored.”

“Nothing on TV?”

Boris shrugs. “It’s just being in a bed. I’m restless. You can ask Misha and Vladdy. I like, never stop moving. This is torture.”

Taylor should go home. He should go to his apartment and sit on his couch and eat leftovers from the other night. He’s sure he could find a hockey game to watch. 

He should go home. 

“I’ve got an idea.”

Boris quickly gets into the wheelchair Taylor provides, leaving his skittles and the remote control behind. “Are we racing again?”

Taylor takes him to the elevator, presses the button a couple times. “Even though I’m not technically on the clock, I’d like not to get yelled at again.” 

He selects the top floor once the doors open and they both watch in silence as the numbers increase. The hall is deserted, no one gets a room up here unless the rest of the hospital is full. The stairs that go up to the roof are at the very end and Taylor parks the wheelchair there. 

“Okay so,” he starts. “I promise it’s worth it but we’ve got a flight of stairs to deal with first.”

It’s a horrible idea for Taylor to carry Boris up the stairs but after the first few with Boris hanging off Taylor’s shoulders, he makes the executive decision. “Here, just let me…”

He leans down to get his arm behind Boris’ knees and lifts. Boris quickly wraps both arms around his neck, eyes wide. 

“Jesus, I would’ve gotten there eventually.”

Taylor smiles, hoisting Boris into a more comfortable position. “This is faster.”

It’s cool and breezy once they make it out onto the roof. Taylor goes straight for the air unit and sets Boris down. They missed the sunset but it’s a clear night as far as the eye can see. Stars are everywhere. 

“Really is the middle of nowhere,” Boris says, leaned back on his hands to look up. 

“How do the stars look in St. Louis?”

“Dim.”

Taylor hums, thoughtfully looking up to the sky. He spots Orion easily, just rising above the horizon. He doesn’t really know all the constellations or anything, but he likes searching for the few he does. 

“I’m sorry I was a dick yesterday.”

“You were in a lot of pain.” 

“Yeah, but you were so fucking nice. You should’ve just passed me off to someone else.” 

Taylor smiles to himself. “I like a challenge.”

Boris scoots over, clearly making room for Taylor to sit. So he does. They’re close like this, his whole left side almost pressed against Boris’ right. He’s warm, even in the breeze. 

“Why’d you become a nurse?”

“Lets me feel like I’m making a difference. I like helping people.”

“Were you a boy scout, too?” Boris smirks. 

“I was,” he says, proud. 

“You’re _way _too good for me.” 

Taylor’s stomach does a little somersault. If he pretends Boris isn’t a patient, isn’t a stranger that fell out of the woods, isn’t counting down the seconds until he can leave and go back to the big city it would almost feel like he was interested. 

Interested in being his. 

“Don’t put yourself down. I’m sure you’re plenty good.”

There’s the distant sounds of sirens and a car horn, the trees rustling. The air conditioning kicks on underneath them. It’d be so easy to lean in, to place his hand on Boris’ knee.

This was a stupid idea. “You probably shouldn’t be sitting like this too long,” he says, indicating Boris’ swollen and bruised ankle.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Just a few more minutes.”

Taylor can do that. He can watch the way the wind combs through Boris’ hair, how long his eyelashes are when he blinks. He notices the tip of his tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip. 

God, he’s such an idiot. “They should have your x-ray results first thing tomorrow,” he says. 

“Will you be here?”

“I, uh...yeah. I’ll be in at nine.” 

“Good.” 

Taylor takes a breath, tries to steady his heartbeat. “I’ll stop by. In the morning.” 

Boris looks at him, catches his gaze. This would be the Moment if it was a movie. When they finally realize there’s something there. A spark. 

Taylor looks away. “I should get you back to your room. Before someone notices you’re missing.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

_“What?” Connor shouts. “You didn’t make a move, are you kidding?”_

_Boris laughs. “He was a _boy scout_. I was terrified of ruining him.” _

_“Shut up.” Taylor says, hiding his grin in his glass. _

_“You’re not really allowed to yell at people over making moves,” Carter says, bringing over another round of beers for everyone. “Considering.”_

_“Fine,” he huffs. “Carry on.” _

“Good morning.” Taylor walks into the room all business while he looks over Boris’ chart. 

“Good morning?” Boris says. It’s more question than statement. Maybe Taylor is trying to be too business-like, especially after last night.

He tries again, smiling as he says, “I have good news and bad news.”

“Of course you do,” Boris whines, throwing himself back into his pile of pillows. “What’s the good news?”

“I have your X-Ray results here.”

“And that’s the bad news, right?” Boris frowns and a little furrow settles between his eyes. 

Taylor really wants to smooth it out.

But that isn’t exactly proper. “Yeah, you have posterior and lateral malleolus fractures, which means surgery.” Boris groans and Taylor quickens to add, “But it’s a simple surgery. Just a little plate and a couple of screws.”

“On each fracture?” Boris presses. 

“Yeah, but it’s all in one surgery. Only about fifteen minutes. Tops.” Taylor smiles again, hopes it’s believable.

“That grimace isn’t really selling me, Nurse.” Boris shakes his head, laughs.

“The...doctor prescribed you some really good stuff for it?” 

Boris laughs again. Taylor wishes he could make it happen forever.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Taylor smirks. Famous last words. “I’ll send in the anesthesiologist.”

//

Taylor’s sitting at the nurse’s station, shuffling papers mindlessly, when Mel comes by with her cart.”

“How’s my favorite nurse?” she asks, a flirty little smile playing on her lips.

“I dunno, I’ll ask Gina when I see her.” 

She laughs, tips her head the way she just came. “Your boy is asking for you.”

“I don’t have a boy!” Taylor objects, and wow. How dare his voice go all squeaky like that?

“Whatever you say,” Mel chuckles, pushing her cart towards the elevators.

Taylor watches the doors close. Then he counts to ten to make sure they aren’t going to pop back open.

And _then_ he makes a beeline for Boris’ room.

“Hey, sunshine. How ya feelin’?” Taylor says when he enters. He worries for a second, but then figures he’s safe by now.

“Taylor, hi.” Boris grins at him, it’s loose and a little silly. Taylor would be caught up on it if he wasn’t stuck on how his name sounds coming out of Boris’ mouth. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Taylor busies himself checking all of Boris’ machines.

"You're so pretty.”

“Am I?” Taylor stops short, looks at Boris with wide eyes. 

He nods, all earnest. “Yeah, and I asked for a different nurse because of it. How would you ever want me if I'm a worthless lump that you have to wait on hand and foot?” He blinks so slowly that Taylor is convinced for a minute that the medicine has pulled him under.

But he isn’t so lucky. Boris’ eyes wander upward. “I just want to...to run my fingers through your hair. But I can’t. Can’t...”

“Maybe I would let you,” Taylor says quietly, placing a hesitant hand on top of one of Boris’. 

“Cantaloupe, we just met,” Boris says before he starts snoring lightly.

Well, isn’t that a kick in the teeth.

//

The only thing that keeps Taylor from pacing in front of the OR is the fact that his other charges are especially demanding today, calling him over every little thing, when all he wants to do is think about the things Boris said to him.

Wants to know if Boris _meant_ any of it.

Taylor sneaks down to the recovery room because he has to see Boris with his own eyes. Has to know that he came out okay, even though he knows realistically that he’s fine.

And he is fine. Laying there, sleeping his anesthesia off. He looks peaceful, in a way he hasn’t any of the other times that Taylor’s seen him. Taylor comes to a stop bedside. He spends a second pretending to check all the beeping and whirring machines before turning his attention to Boris.

“You’re really pretty too, you know,” Taylor says softly, brushing Boris’ hair out of his eyes. His pager goes off. “I’ll talk to you when you wake up, okay?”

He gives Boris’ arm a little squeeze before sprinting back to his floor. 

//

Boris still isn’t awake when Taylor’s shift ends, so he pulls the armchair in the room closer to his bedside and waits for him to wake up. He spends a lot of time looking at his phone when Jen, the night nurse, comes in to check on him. She tsks at Taylor, but doesn’t say anything. He isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.

Taylor’s stomach is doing a full on ‘feed me, you asshole’ revolt at eight-thirty when Boris finally wakes up. 

“Hey,” Talyor says softly when Boris blinks groggily over at him. 

“Mmm, hey.” He wipes at his face a bit. “Can you get me some water, or something?”

“Yeah, sure.” Taylor pops on over to mess and grabs a couple of small bottles of water and some crushed ice. He pours some water into a cup and slips a straw in afterward, a practiced, effortless habit. He watches Boris take a couple of sips before he blurts out, “Did you mean it?” 

Wow, super smooth, Taylor.

“Did I mean what?” Boris asks, confusion written all over his face.

Taylor wants to tell him what he said, wishes that he could just repeat Boris’ words to him. But Taylor doesn’t have the guts to take that leap. He pretends to check his phone.

“I’m sorry, I, uh, I have something I have to tend to.” He turns and hurries for the door.

“Can you bring me some food when you come back?” Boris calls after him, a firm reminder that he’s just a nurse 

“Hey Jen? He’s awake and is asking for food,” Taylor says when he passes the Nurses’ Station. 

“You’re leaving now that he’s awake?” she asks in surprise. Taylor just waves over his shoulder and continues to the elevator.

//

Taylor goes home, where he types and re-types a text to Tony about ten times. Give or take. He hesitates sending it because he can hear Tony and his Russian through the paper-thin apartment walls, but he really needs someone to talk to right now.

He settles for sending _Hey, can we talk? _

He notices that the tone of their conversation changes after that. He heads out onto the landing when he hears the shower start. Taylor’s just settled into one of his plastic folding chairs when Tony’s screen door snaps open. He appears a second later with a couple bottles of Bud gripped in one hand. 

Taylor spends a few seconds peeling at the label. “I really like Boris.”

A sad, half smile cracks Tony’s lips. “You should tell him that then.”

“I started to say something because he said he likes me, but turns out he doesn’t remember that.”

“That is all the more reason to tell him, man.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He swirls the beer in his bottle a bit, takes a swig. “What about you and…?”

“Misha.”

“Yeah, Misha. What’s going on there?”

“He’s really hot, and he wants to screw around.” Tony starts to drink, but stops the bottle short. “I won’t, though.”

“You better have a good reason after telling me to go after Boris.”

“I mean, you know how it is here,” he says, hanging his head.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, he hates it here, so it’s just the magic trying to keep him, and I’m not gonna let it.”

Taylor studies him while he pretends to be really interested in his beer. “What about how _you_ feel?”

Tony shrugs, just repeats, “Doesn’t matter; he hates it here.”

“Tony, --”

His phone vibrates on the little glass table between them, he grabs for it. “Gotta get back.” He looks at Taylor, smiles. The soft, gentle one that not many people get to see. “Talk to him tomorrow. You don’t want to have any regrets.”

“Yeah, okay,” Taylor replies. 

Tony sets his untouched beer down and heads back into his own apartment.

Taylor sits there and looks at the stars, wondering _what if_.

//

The next morning finds Taylor gathering all of Boris’ favorite things after he goes on shift. Three pudding cups, the extra fuzzy slippers he adores, and the thickest, most plush blanket he can find. 

It can’t hurt to butter him up first, alright?

“What’s up with you today?” Boris asks around a spoonful of pudding. There it is. The perfect setup. Say something. 

Say something. 

Say. _Anything_. 

But he shouldn’t. Not now, not for this, not when Tony’s right. They’re going to leave. “I just wanted you to be comfortable after surgery yesterday.” He puts on his biggest, brightest, _fakest _smile. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, okay?”

He takes the deepest breath, exhaling it on a sigh as he heads for the door. 

“Hey Taylor?” 

Taylor pauses by the door, his hand on the weird slat knob. 

“What’s a guy gotta go to get kissed around here?”

“W-what?” Taylor’s heart is beating a million miles a minute.

“I know I was a little out of it when I first woke up, but Taylor.” He pats the spot next to him on the bed “I meant every word I said before.”

“Did you now?” Taylor asks. 

Boris nods, scooting over to give Taylor room to sit. 

A smile blooms on his face as he heads back to Boris’ side--

_“Great, that’s fine. Then you kissed. Next story.”_

_“Connor, that’s rude,” Carter says, even as he tries not to laugh. _

_“I don’t wanna know about the making out! Just the getting together.” He turns to Tony. “Tell me your story, Officer.” He smirks._

_Misha sets down his beer. “I’ll take this one.”_


	3. Chapter 3

Misha is not delighted to be sitting a cop car in the world’s smallest town, cruising through the saddest looking downtown he’s ever seen. This place is a nightmare and he can’t _wait_ to get back to St. Louis and give Frank a piece of his mind.

The next time he wants a picture book of Nowhere, America, he can do it himself.

They have to drop the cruiser off at the station and Officer Cirelli leads him toward a sensible blue crossover parked under a tree. “Sorry,” he says. “They don’t like us to take them home.”

Misha doesn’t care. He gets in the passenger seat with a huff.

They end up at a little set of apartments, a two-story rectangle around a pool and courtyard. The outside of the building could use a coat of paint and the shrubs out front are clearly not taken care of regularly. Misha follows the officer to one of the second floor doors. Number 22.

“It’s not much,” he says once they step into the tiny space. “But the guest room is here.”

The room isn’t big enough for anything other than a single bed shoved against the wall and an old side table covered in dust.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to clean it. I, uh, I don’t usually have guests.”

Misha is not surprised.

He opens the closet door across the hall and pulls down sheets and a quilt. “I don’t think I said earlier, but I’m Tony.”

“Misha.”

They don’t shake hands but Misha does take the pile of bedding from Tony with a small smile.

“I’m gonna finish dinner up so, make yourself at home.”

Misha considers shutting himself in the tiny room and locking the door. But he can admit when he’s being rude to a kind host. He makes the bed first before shutting the door and flopping onto the lumpy mattress.

He’s going to kill Boris if he really fucked up his ankle. God forbid he has to have surgery and like, stay here for _days_. Misha’s itching to book a plane ticket and get the fuck out of this shithole.

He plugs in his phone and immediately tries to pull up Instagram to no avail. Of course. He doesn’t even get good phone service here. It’s literally a black hole of despair.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his head back out of the door. “Do you have wifi?”

Tony’s standing in the little kitchenette, a cutting board full of vegetables in front of him. “No, I’m sorry. Is your phone not working?” He sets his knife down and wipes his hands. “You can borrow mine if you need to make a call.”

“No, I was just...it’s fine. Thanks.” He lays back on the bed and pouts. What an absolute disaster of a situation.

Maybe if he just closes his eyes he can fall asleep. Naps are good.

He wakes to a couple soft taps on the door. Ignoring them and feigning deep sleep would be easy. But he remembers Tony was finishing dinner and Misha’s stomach growls at the thought.

Tony looks particularly earnest when he opens the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

Stepping out of the tiny room, Misha is hit with the full scent of what Tony’s been cooking: pot roast, with potatoes and carrots in some sort of gravy. And sweet rolls. Those are definitely puffy little clouds of carb heaven.

“It smells amazing,” he confesses.

Tony beams, passing him a bowl.

They sit on the couch together and Tony turns on the TV. There’s American football on, which is adequate background noise. During the commercials, though, Tony switches over to a quiz show and answers the questions out loud. Like, all of the questions.

Misha would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed.

“So d’you and your friends hike a lot?” Tony tries, once he’s flipped back to football.

Misha appreciates the attempt at conversation but he just doesn’t have the energy. “Not usually. We were working, getting nature shots and stuff. We’re freelancers and one of our usual bosses is doing a book on places like this. Boris took the job without consulting us. I’m never going hiking again so I don’t end up in any other places like this.”

Tony smiles even though Misha was definitely just rude again. “Seems fair.”

Misha finishes his bowl, scraping up as much of the gravy as he can. “Thank you. For dinner and for letting me stay,” he offers. He could take Vladdy’s advice and be a little less of a bitch ass, especially to someone as nice as Tony. “I think I’m going to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Tony bounces off the couch, earnest as ever. “Okay! If you need anything I’m just over there.” He points to the next door down from the guest room.

Misha nods, puts his bowl in the sink. He could use a toothbrush and some shorts to sleep in but he’ll just figure it out in the morning. It’s fine.

Tony taps on the door again the next morning and Misha wants to burrow under the covers and never come out.

He doesn’t open the door but he does start talking. “I picked up a shift for Jake at the station. I didn’t know if you wanted to, uh, maybe come on a ride along? No pressure but I just, y’know, didn’t know if you’d be bored? You might not even be awake. Uh, so okay. Never mind. I’ll leave you a note. In case you are asl--.”

Misha opens the door, only remembering he slept naked when he sees Tony’s face turn fuschia.

“You’re...not asleep.”

Misha grabs for the quilt, wraps it around his waist. “No.”

“I was just, uh…”

“I heard. Through the door.”

“Oh.”

They fall silent.

“So do y--.”

“Yes.”

Tony smiles, close-lipped, and Misha kind of likes how his face lights up with it. Hopefully this small town has some exciting crime.

_“Pay attention,” Misha says. “Here you come.”_

_“What?” Connor asks, raising his eyebrows._

_Carter elbows him. “Pay. Attention.”_

Turns out, the town sure doesn’t have any interesting crime. It might not even have any crime at all. They’ve been sitting on the side of the road for hours and Misha has considered throwing himself out of the car multiple times and just, making a run for it.

Tony fiddles with the radio every so often, flipping between two different country stations. One is significantly worse than the other.

“Is ther--.” He reaches for the knob at the same time as Tony. Their knuckles brush and Tony snaps his hand back so fast Misha thinks he electrocuted him. “Sorry. I just can’t take this music anymore.”

Tony tucks his chin down, making himself small. “We don’t get many stations out here.”

Misha decides to just turn down the offensive noise. “Does anything ever happen here, or?”

Tony shrugs and Misha thinks this is actually the time he’s going to throw himself out onto the pavement. But, as he reaches for the door handle, a car appears on the horizon. It pops up at the top of the hill and Misha can tell it’s going fast.

Too fast.

Tony sits up straight, squeezes and releases the steering wheel with both hands.

Misha wonders if they’ll have to _chase_ this guy.

The car’s speed clocks in twenty mph over the speed limit and Tony flips on the sirens, peeling out of where they’ve been parked for hours. However, to Misha’s dismay, the chase doesn’t last long. The Nissan slows down promptly and pulls off onto the rocky shoulder.

“Stay here,” Tony says, stepping out of the car.

Misha huffs but stays put. Tony taps on the driver’s window and proceeds to have a nice conversation with the guy. He eventually gets his license and registration and returns to the car.

“Are you going to give him a ticket?”

“Nah,” Tony says, typing in his information. “Just a warning. He’s a good guy. Said he was listening to Mumford and Sons and got carried away by the banjo.”

“You’re joking.”

“It’s a good song.”

“Yeah, but that’s a terrible excuse for speeding.”

“It happens to the best of us. I’ll be right back.”

Misha watches again as Tony smiles and hands the guy’s information back to him with nothing but a verbal slap on the wrists. The truck pulls away before Tony’s back in the car.

He turns around and settles back into the spot they were parked before, resets the radar gun, and flips the radio to the old school country station. “That was something.”

Misha sighs. “Does anything other than that happen here? Or was that the highlight of your week?”

“Plenty of things happen. You and your friends happened. That might be the highlight of my week, to be honest,” Tony rambles. He gives Misha a shy smile. “People, uh, fall in love, too.” His voice hitches in the middle.

“Falling in love isn’t an event.”

“It is here. Ever since I can remember out of towners come here and fall in love.”

“I’m sorry, but,” Misha snorts out a laugh, “That some fake romanticism bullshit.”

“No, they really do!” Tony looks over at him. He starts ticking them off on fingers. “Braydon and Slater, Cory and Pudge, Ross and Alex...even Jake and Yan--”

"No. That doesn't have anything to do with _here_."

"They _happened_ here, which is what you asked." He frowns, pushes his eyebrows together. “This town makes people fall in love, it’s the truth of the matter.”

“That isn’t a real thing that happens,” Misha insists.

Tony turns his attention to his fingernails and Misha lets his head fall to the window, one loud thunk. He should have stayed in bed.

By the end of Tony’s shift, Misha knows all of the words to at least four country songs he heard no less than six times each. He’s seen an armadillo cross the road, slowly. He knows Tony’s parents’ names and where he went to high school, why he joined the police force in this tiny town, and why he plans to stay here forever.

And he is very, deeply bored.

“I was going to swing through somewhere for dinner, is that alright?”

Misha’s starving. “Yeah, whatever.”

Tony orders a small feast from the drive thru hamburger place and it smells like heaven. Misha’s thankful they’re not far from the apartment.

There isn’t any football on tonight so Tony scans the guide until settling on a cooking competition.

“Have you heard from your friends?”

Misha hasn’t, despite how many SOS texts he’s sent. He’s not sure if it’s the bad service or that neither one of them care if he’s still alive or not but, “No.”

“Sorry you got stuck with me.”

Misha takes a bite of his burger, chews thoroughly. “I could have chosen to stay in a hotel.”

He doesn’t turn fully to look at Tony but he can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. It’s really a shame that Misha’s been in such a foul mood since the hospital, that he’s acted on it and made Tony feel miserable. Someone like Tony doesn’t deserve that.

Someone like Tony who is so earnest and kind. Who looks the way he does but chooses not to flaunt it. Keeps it all hidden under police uniforms and loose-fitting clothes. He has his shirt unbuttoned now, just a few inches open at the collar, and the spread of his chest beneath it is just fucking lovely if Misha looks at it too long. Which he certainly hasn’t.

He has noticed the cheekbones and the lips, especially when he smiles. Those are a thing. Overall, Misha could’ve done worse, is what he’s trying to say.

“I’m not stuck. Is what I mean.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

Misha opens his mouth to say more nice things but Tony stands, picking up his wrappers and the now-empty bag. “I should get to bed.”

He steps over Misha’s legs and throws away the trash. Misha watches him go.

“Be sure to turn out the light,” he says with his softest smile yet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow brings eggs and bacon, crispy just the way Misha likes. He tries to keep his eyes to himself at the table but Tony’s sleep shirt is thin. Thin enough to see the full shape of him.

Misha butters his toast while it’s still hot, watches it melt. Tony yawns and scratches his fingers through his messy bedhead. Misha feels like the butter.

“It’s, uh, my day off today,” Tony says. “I was just going to hang out at the pool since it’s nice out.”

Misha considers what Tony would look like dripping in pool water for about three seconds. “Yeah, sure. That would be nice.”

Tony smiles and goes back to scrolling through his phone. He licks a bit of jam off his thumb at one point and Misha nearly chokes. Shit.

Talk about a freight train of emotions.

An idea strikes him. “I have a question.”

Tony brushes crumbs off his fingers. “Shoot.”

“So part of this contract we’re working on is to get some pictures of the locals doing local things. Would you mind if I brought my camera down? Maybe take a few shots of you?”

“Oh.” Tony swallows and blushes so damn beautifully. “I mean, I dunno if anyone would want to see me in a book.”

Misha shrugs, flashes his best smirk. “Don’t sell yourself short. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Maybe there will be some other people there.”

“Well, I guess. If you think…”

“I’d let you see them, before I pick one.”

Tony’s chest rises and falls a few times as he takes deep breaths. “Okay.”

Excitement rushes up Misha’s spine. “I’ll probably need to borrow a swimsuit,” he says, changing the subject to try and act normal.

“Yeah, no problem.” Tony settles back into his chair. “You can wear the speedo.”

Misha does actually choke at that.

Tony laughs, his smile so bright and wide and carefree that Misha can’t even be bothered to care that he fell for his joke.

“Hey, I’d pull it off,” he says, finishing his toast. “If forced.”

He delights in how red Tony’s cheeks get.

After breakfast and a shower, Tony gives Misha a pair of blue trunks and a towel. He’s already in his own swimwear with sunglasses tucked up in his hair. “I think those should fit.”

Misha slips back into his room and changes. The trunks cling a little to his thighs but that’s pretty standard. He checks himself in the mirror on the back of the door and yeah, he could definitely look worse. Damn. He might steal these.

Or ask where Tony got them, at least.

He checks his phone, planning to leave it behind, and sees a message from Vladdy. Finally.

_I don’t think I want to leave Nowhere._

That has to be a joke. _Excuse me?_

He doesn’t get a reply back right away, which is probably for the best. Misha has other things to worry about right now. Like Tony, shirtless. In the sun.

So he leaves his phone on the charger and follows Tony out and down to the pool. There’s no one else there so it’s easy to claim a couple lounge chairs. Misha gets his chair at the right height before laying his towel down and settling.

“I’m going to get a couple laps in before anyone else shows up,” Tony says.

Misha waves him on, happy to sit and watch.

He dives gracefully into the water, barely making a splash, and Misha is transfixed. Tony has pretty good form (not that he would _really_ know, he’s not a swimmer), his arms swinging up and around with ease. The pool’s hardly long enough to be a lap pool but Tony gets to the shallow end and flips around, taking a moment to drag his curls off his forehead.

Misha’s mouth is a little dry.

Tony goes through all four strokes and the backstroke is by far the worst. He can see Tony’s chest clear as day whenever he breaks the surface of the water. _God_.

But all good things come to an end and after Tony finishes his last lap, he sinks under the water. Misha watches him come back to their side of the pool. When he gets to the edge, he crests, honest to god flipping his hair back like he’s Ariel.

Misha grips his camera _so hard._ But he thinks he gets the shot.

Tony pulls himself out of the pool with the same grace he had when he dove in and drips all the way to his towel. It’s a pity he dries his face off, doing away with the beads of water curving over his cheekbones and jaw. “You gonna get in?” he asks. “Or just sit here and bake?”

Misha likes to bake, thanks. “I hadn’t decided yet.”

Tony smiles down at him, his hair still wet and dripping. Misha tilts his camera back up and snaps a few pictures before Tony can complain. He knows they’ll be close shots, right up in Tony’s face. But maybe that means the droplets slipping off the ends of his curls will be visible. He bets they’ll look gorgeous in black and white.

Tony clears his throat. “Well, I’m going to continue to prune over in the hot tub. Put some sunscreen on.”

That gets Misha’s attention. He doesn’t want to sound like an asshole but, “This place has a hot tub?”

Tony ruffles his hair with his towel. “Yeah, it’s not very big or fancy.”

“I’m in.”

So Misha wraps his camera up in the towel that Tony gave him and they settle into the hot water and Tony starts up the jets. Misha moves so his lower back is right in front of one and groans. “Oh that’s good.”

The apple’s of Tony’s cheeks are tinted red and Misha wonders if it’s just because of the temperature or if maybe Misha’s chest all wet is having a similar effect on him.

He stretches his arms out along the edge of the tub and Misha’s eyes trace every ridge and bulge along them. Almost delicate from wrists to elbow but his bicep to shoulder is deliciously toned. He’s thankful that he’s wearing sunglasses as he lets his eyes wander, take their fill of the smooth curves and dips...until his eyes are drawn to Tony’s hands. He’s captivated by the size of them, can’t stop thinking about how they might feel pinning his hips down.

Misha needs to feel those hands on his body. He scoots closer to Tony, pulling his sunglasses off on the way. He drops them on the patio before letting his fingertips trace Tony’s knuckles.

He might love seeing the shiver that runs through him at the action.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, his voice catching in the middle.

“Couldn’t we...just…” Misha trails off, caught caught up in the sight of Tony’s eyelashes clumped together. Eyelashes like that should be a sin.

And if they are, he’d like to be a sinner.

“Just what?” Tony prompts, his breath is quick and he’s leaning in. Just a little, but enough that Misha can see it.

Misha places his hand on top of Tony’s. “Some fun?” He cocks his head to the left, leans in.

Tony stands up suddenly, Misha’s sputtering from the deluge off of his body.

His, wet, close body. Misha wants to pull him back down.

“No, the magic.”

“The what?” Misha blinks up at him, a little sun blind.

“You don’t. This isn’t.” Tony shakes his head and scrambles from the tub. “I have to start dinner,” he calls over his shoulder, gathering his towel and phone.

“It’s, like, noon.”

“Crock pot.” Is the only response he gets before Tony darts for the stairs.

//

Misha gives Tony space. Waits until he’s truly too pruney for his own good before getting out of the pool and drying off. He finds Tony curled up in the corner of his couch with a book and little wire-rimmed reading glasses on. The house smells delicious.

“Hey.”

Tony marks his page, closes his book. “Hi.”

“I’m…”

“The food should be done in a couple hours.”

“Okay.”

The silence thickens between them, filling up the whole room. Misha wants to say something but thinks better of it. He goes to the guest room, instead, shutting the door gently before flopping face-first on the bed.

The springs give a loud creak as he twists around to check his phone. Still nothing from Vladdy.

_Uh, hello??? Are you joking or what?_

He tries Boris as well: _Just checking you’re still alive or whatever._

_Yea don’t worry about me :) _

At least one of them remembers how to text.

Dinner is ready exactly when Tony said it would be and Misha fills his bowl to the brim, settling on the couch like they have for every other dinner.

“Did you make this cornbread yourself?” he asks through a mouthful, going into his bowl to mop up more gravy.

“Yeah, but it’s just from a box,” Tony says. Of course he’s humble too.

“People mess things up that come in a box all the time.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Tony smiles and it makes Misha’s heart go all warm and fuzzy. He scoots a little closer to Tony, takes his bowl and places it on the coffee table.

“There’s a lot that I like right now,” Misha says, running a thumb along Tony's bottom lip. Tony exhales fast as his breathing speeds up; Misha feels his own trying to match. Misha leans in, wants to taste Tony’s lips so badly. “W-wait,” Tony rasps out.

Misha pauses, less than an inch away from Tony. “What?” he asks in a whisper.

Tony’s eyes squeeze closed. “You don’t want this.” He sounds so _sure_ about Misha’s feelings on the matter.

“How do you know what I do and don’t want?”

“You hate it here.” Tony pulls back, his eyes flutter open. They’re glassy, but Misha doesn’t know why.

“Well, I--”

“It’s the. Even if you don’t believe.” Tony shakes his head. “This just isn’t a good idea.” He pulls away, which is the last fucking thing Misha wants right now.

“If you don’t want to kiss me, just tell me. Stop making up bullshit reasons.”

Tony looks hurt, and he thinks that maybe he went too far. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he finally says quietly.

“Tony, I--”

“I’m going to bed, I think.” He smiles, but it’s more like Officer Cirelli’s hospital smile than anything Misha’s seen the last couple of days from Tony. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Misha sits there and watches Tony retreat to his room. He picks up his phone after a moment, pulls up Vladdy.

_Are you ever going to answer me, or?_

_"This isn’t a love story at all!” Connor is visibly distraught by the turn of events._

_“They get there,” Vladdy says, still sitting in Nikita’s lap. “Just wait.”_

Thursday is a mess of quiet and being tense around one another, and talking to Taylor doesn’t make Tony feel better. Well, he’s happy for Taylor, who is like a brother to him, but he’s sad that he doesn’t get to have that kind of love.Tony sighs as he carefully lets himself back into his apartment, nervous about what an evening at home will bring. Here, not home. This isn’t Misha’s home.

Misha’s loading the dishwasher and Tony doesn’t know how to tell him it doesn’t work. “Uh…”

Misha freezes like he’s been caught. “Is, uh, is this okay?”

“It is. But, it doesn’t work. I always have to wash everything by hand.” He scratches the back of his head, sheepish. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault, I should have checked first,” Misha hurries to say. “I’ll unload it.” He pulls the dishes out of the rack and sets them back in the sink.

“I can help you wash,” Tony offers.

“Thanks,” Misha replies quietly.

The silence is more than just a bit tense as they fill the sink with soapy water and get to work.

Tony realizes he doesn’t have a towel to dry with and so he reaches around Misha to grab one. Misha turns when he moves and they’re suddenly face to face, totally in one another’s space, almost breathing the same air. They’re two inches apart, tops, and it would be so easy to just. Close the distance. To let go and allow the tension that’s grown between them to break.

Misha flicks his eyes down to Tony’s lips and that’s almost the last straw. It’d be so easy to just give in and kiss him. To say fuck it to the magic and have what he wants _just this once_.

And Tony _really_ wants to kiss him.

But he grabs the towel and turns away. He knows he shouldn’t, because no matter what he wants, he isn’t going to let the town get Misha.

So, it’s better this way.

//

Tony is sitting on the end of his couch, staring into space over his first cup of coffee the next morning when Misha walks into the room.

“Who do I call to get a ride to Tulsa?” he asks, looking up from his phone.

“Why? What’s in Tulsa?” Tony blinks up at him. He remembers the state of his bed head half a second later and attempts to flatten it with one hand.

Misha smirks and he knows it’s a lost cause. “I have to catch a flight.”

“Just you?” Tony asks carefully. His heart doesn’t crack. It does _not_.

“Boris can’t leave yet because he hasn’t been discharged and Vladdy’s told me that he isn’t going back.” Misha waves his phone vaguely. “But I have a shoot in a couple of days so I have to get back and prep for it.”

“Oh. Well.” Tony’s voice breaks so he takes a sip of his coffee. “I have today off. I can take you, no problem.”

“I can pay you gas, whatever,” Misha says, heading back to his room.

_The_ room.

“It’s no problem,” Tony repeats faintly.

So they climb into Tony’s sensible vehicle and head towards Tulsa. It’s a bright sunny day, cool enough to ride with the windows down, crank the radio. It would feel better if Misha wasn’t leaving. If he wasn’t to go back to his life without Nowhere. Without Tony.

Well, Misha never really wanted him, so what does it matter?

They arrive and Tony’s heart barters with him one more time. Tells him that maybe the magic isn't what really happened, that maybe Misha does want him. Tony parks on the roof of the garage, because that’s the romantic spot, right? If Misha wants him, he’ll kiss him here, on the roof while planes take off in the background.

No, no! He’ll wait until the terminal, because it’s even more romantic to do it there. He’ll cancel his bag check-in and tear up his boarding pass.

Misha is waiting until security. Yeah, he’ll come running back so people can gasp and murmur as he confesses that Tony is all he’s ever wanted in someone and they’ll kiss while the people around them break into applause.

“Hey, thanks for letting me stay,” Misha says, adjusting his laptop bag. “And for driving me over.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Tony pushes his smile, the one that he knows no one likes, even though he can’t help it, and shakes his head.

Misha offers him a distracted smile. It’s one of the best Tony’s ever seen.

He goes back to the roof, sits on the hood of his car and watches plane after plane take off. There’s a part of him that still hopes that Misha’s coming back, that he’ll dash out of the elevator and tell Tony that he couldn’t get on the plane, that leaving Tony was something he just couldn’t do.

Tony sits and waits until the flight is scheduled to take off, waits until he sees flight number 9871 take to the sky.

And then he waits for another twenty minutes.

Just in case.

But Misha doesn't come back. Of course it was just Nowhere.

_"Excuse me,” Connor cuts in. “This is all very depressing and not the least bit romantic.”_

_“Yeah, I couldn’t believe that Misha didn’t do anything at the airport, you dumbass.” Boris leans back against the bar._

_Misha grumbles, “We can’t all woo someone with our pissiness.”_

_Boris grins. “But, oh, do I have some romance for you right here.”_

_“You mean I do,” Tony says._

His work week passes torturously slow, but come Tuesday, Tony’s decided that he’s going out. He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’ll do, but he’s sick of moping because his life is not a romcom. He showers, styles his hair with too much gel, and puts on his nicest slacks and a button down. Maybe he’s only dressing for himself, but damn if he doesn’t look _good_.

Someone comes thumping up the steps when Tony’s pulling his door closed. He looks over just in time to see Boris (in a boot) start banging on Taylor’s door. Tony sags against his own, because the only way out is past Boris, and Taylor’s already pulled his door open and...

“I can’t leave you.”

“How did you get my address?” Taylor asks, eyebrows practically in his hairline.

“Jen gave it to me, but that isn’t important.” Boris smiles. “What’s important is I met _you_.” He places a hand on Taylor’s jawline and Tony lets his eyes drop closed. He can’t believe everyone who met one of these stupid Russians gets a happy ending but him.

He’s happy for Taylor, but still. Damn.

Taylor beams at Boris, pulls him into his apartment.

Tony sighs and heads down to his car. He drives to the dollar theater, where he sits alone in the back with stale popcorn, not paying attention to the movie on the screen.

//

Tony wakes the next day to a steady knocking at his front door. “God, I’m coming, hold your horses,” he calls, pulling a robe on. He debates tying it on the way, but he isn’t awake enough for that sort of coordination, so whoever it is can just deal.

“Boris?” Tony blinks a couple of times, rubs at his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to go get some things,” Boris replies. “But the thing is, I hate flying?”

“Okay,” Tony says, drawing out the o. It’s too early for him to be connecting any dots.

“Taylor mentioned that you have a couple more days off said and that maybe you would take me up to St. Louis to get said things?”

“Uh.”

“I’ll pay for gas and your meals,” he hurries out. “Most of the stuff I can just get later, but some of it I need now.”

“Can’t you just rent a truck?” Tony asks. He doesn’t want to go to St. Louis. He was there once and it was incredibly too big.

“Wish I could, but there’s only one in town and it’s already sitting in front of a French bakery.” He leans on Tony’s doorway. “Besides, I’d rather have company.”

Tony wracks his brain, tries to come up with a reason to say no but he’s got nothing. “Yeah, sure. When do you want to leave?”

//

“Your car is comfy,” Boris says, settling in once they get out on the highway.

“Thanks.” Tony knows he’s coming off as short, rude even, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hey, I was wondering, what did you think of Misha?” Boris asks.

Tony doesn’t balk, but only because he’s driving. “He was, um.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “He was sort of cranky at first, but it was just because he hates Nowhere.” Tony allows himself a little smirk, his heart flutters a bit when he adds, “but he was nice. He helped me do dishes, and I know it doesn’t sound like much, but…” Tony shrugs, not sure how to explain that he’d never done anything all domestic like that before. “I’m never going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter.”

Boris grins at him. It’s unnerving and Tony tells him as much. “Am I not allowed to be happy?”

“No, you are, of course.” Tony frowns. “I didn’t mean--”

“I’m just teasing,” Boris interrupts. “Oh, I think that we’re finally close enough to listen to something decent.” He fiddles with the knob until he finds the station he wants, then turns it up.

At least Tony won’t have to talk to him for a while, even if it means thumping base and distorted guitar.

//

Boris gives Tony a code to get into a tiny compound next to a skyrise of a building. “Where do I park?” he asks.

“You can park in my spot because my car isn’t here. It’s still at the-- It isn’t here.” Tony raises his eyebrows, but takes Boris’ directions to his spot in the third row. “You should come in,” he says after Tony shuts the car off.

“No, I can stay here, it’s fine.” He waves his phone around. “I can mess around on my phone.”

“Well, I’ll be a while because I have to pack a lot of clothes and...stuff.” His sketchy grin returns. “And you know I can’t move that quickly yet.” Tony sighs, but heads into the building after him. He drags his feet a bit into the elevator, but is caught off guard when Boris hits the 13 button.

“I thought that buildings don’t do thirteenth floors?”

“This one does,” Boris says with a shrug.

“Ah,” is all Tony says as the elevator glides up to their destination.

“Here’s the remote, you can watch whatever,” Boris says after he gets Tony settled on the couch.

Boris heads into what is presumably his bedroom while Tony looks down at the remote. It has more buttons than a computer keyboard has keys, so he thinks that maybe he’ll just put that down and stick to his phone.

_Tony cuts in, “I still can’t believe you planned all of it, but I guess it should have been obvious looking back.”_

_“Hey, _we_ planned it,” Taylor adds. “Don’t you forget that.”_

_“Oh this is juicy,” Connor says, taking a sip of his beer._

"Tony?" his head snaps up from his phone at the sound of Misha's voice. Holy shit. _Holy_. _Shit_.

He scrambles to his feet. "I, um. Hi.” He grimaces at how stupid hillbilly redneck he sounds. “What are you doing here?"

"What am I...Tony, you’re standing in my apartment. What are _you_ doing here?" Tony wants to hyperventilate right now because he can't fucking believe that Boris didn't find any time on the way up here to mention that _he lives with Misha_.

He takes a deep breath, draws on every bit of police training he’s ever had. "I brought Boris to get his stuff, he hates flying and him an' Taylor are, um." Tony looks down, shrugs. "I'm sure you know."

"Boris doesn't hate flying."

Tony drops his phone at the admission. He scrambles for it, his vision going a little white at the edges because he knows what this is now, and how could Boris do this to him? "I'm sorry,” he says as he scrambles for his phone. “It’s shitty that he would. This is…” Tony’s hand closes on his phone and he springs up and retreats towards the door. "Please tell Boris that I'll wait for him downstairs.” He takes a shuddering breath. "I'm just so sorry.”

Misha crowds him up against the door right as he reaches it. Tony turns and looks up at him. God, why is he just as beautiful as Tony remembers? "Don't you dare leave."

“W-what?” Tony blinks at him.

A small, happy smile parts Misha’s lips and he runs a couple of fingers down Tony’s face. “You’re here.”

Tony doesn’t recognize his tone, doesn’t know what it means. “Yeah, like I said--”

Misha leans in and kisses him.

It doesn’t last very long before Misha breaks it. He presses their foreheads together, his hand cups Tony's jaw when he says, “I'm sorry, I know you don't want me but I couldn't go my whole life without kissing you."

Tony blurts out, "Are you shittin’ me right now? Of course I want you! I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you. I didn’t even care that you were grumpy and petulant, that you didn’t want anything to do with me. I watched you with your friends and you were so, I don’t know how to explain it. You love them so much and the way you are with them just filled my heart with happiness. And besides, look at you! You’re gorgeous…

“But you _hate_ Nowhere! You hate everything about where I’m from, hate everything about the place that made me who I am today.”

“Tony…” Misha starts quietly, but Tony isn’t done yet.

“You hated it a hundred percent, but the town didn’t care. It tried to make you stay. It made you _think_ that you wanted me.” Tony shakes his head. “And I wasn't going to keep you against your will."

“There’s no such thing as magic, Tony. That isn’t what happened.”

“No? Well, what about all the couples I told you about? And how much you hated it but still tried to kiss me a couple of times?”

“That doesn’t mean--”

“I took you to Tulsa and you didn’t want me anymore.” Tony wipes away an angry tear that’s managed to escape without permission. “You were back to cold and indifferent, hardly even saying goodbye to me. You were back to the Misha that hated me and where I’m from, and yet I still waited. Waited and hoped and wished...but you didn’t come back. So don’t tell me that it isn’t the town.”

“I regretted getting on that plane the second the doors closed. I know that I'm dumb, okay? I'm an idiot who shouldn’t have gotten on that plane in the first place.” Misha takes Tony’s face in both hands, squeezes gently. ”Please don't hate me for being an idiot." He presses a light kiss to Tony’s lips and Tony feels like his heart is gonna beat right out of his chest. "You have to know that I could never hate you."

Tony sighs. "It’s great that you don’t hate me and all, but. You _do_ hate Nowhere, almost as much as I love it. I would never ask you to stay in a place you hate and you know all the reasons why I won’t leave.”

"I didn't hate it there! I didn’t give it a chance because I was so pissed off about being talked into doing something I didn’t really want to do. And then I was stuck spending what was supposed to be my vacation sitting in an apartment.”

“We didn’t sit in my apartment that much,” Tony objects weakly.

“You’re right! We didn’t, and I wasn’t being fair to you.” Misha’s hands run up into Tony’s hair. “You’re so..so _much_ that it was overwhelming. And then Wednesday? Down at the pool? That was _especially_ eye-opening."

Tony’s knees go a little weak and can't help but preen a little bit under how hot Misha’s gaze goes when he says eye-opening. “O-oh?”

“I would go anywhere to be with you,” Misha says between little kisses up and down Tony’s jawline.

“The magic…”Tony says quietly.

Misha pulls back just a bit. “No, it’s you, not the town.” He grins. “I can show you while we’re here in St. Louis, if you want.”

Tony only has time to swallow before Misha’s lips are on his, hot and desperate. He pulls Tony’s lip between his teeth and Tony can’t help but whine, throwing his arms around Misha’s neck to hold him closer. He’s just opening his mouth, ready to go on the offensive with his tongue when Boris’ voice startles him.

“Yeah, I’m closing the door, now!”

Tony and Misha look at one another for a second before they both huff a small laugh and lean back in. 

_"Okay great, but how did y’all get back here?” Connor asks. _

_“That is not even remotely the most interesting part of this story,” Misha snips. _

_“But I want to know!” _

_“And I want to go to bed,” Nikita grumps from where he’s sitting. _

_Vladdy gives him a kiss for his troubles. “Not too much longer.”_

Misha takes his time with Tony, lets his hands roam from his jaw to his neck, to the curve of his shoulders. He drags his hands down to Tony’s chest as he deepens the kiss, Tony’s tongue almost bringing him to his knees.

Tony groans when Misha’s thumbs slide across his ribs, down the flat plane of his stomac--

_“Geez, no. Okay,” Connor says, face all scrunched up in disgust. “We get it. Y’all lived happily ever after. And now you’re here. All of you.”_

_“Yep,” Misha says, popping the p. _

_“Well, good. Uh, I’m going to take Carter home now.”_

_“Oh?” Carter raises his eyebrows and takes Connor’s keys from where he’s fumbling them out of his pocket. “I think I’ll be the one driving home.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. That’ll just free up my hands.” _

_“You know,” Tony says, finishing the last of his beer. “I think Connor has the right idea.” His gaze is heated, eyes flicking down to scan the shape of Misha’s legs. _

_Nikita and Vladdy are already halfway to the door. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the rating bump :)

Connor dutifully follows Carter to his truck, slipping an arm around his waist and dropping his hand in Carter’s back pocket. 

“You’re shameless,” Carter says with a smile. 

He replies by pressing their bodies together up against the driver door. He gets his mouth on Carter’s lips and gasps when Carter wraps fingers in his hair, tugs him back. “So bad.” 

He grins and drags a seductive tongue along his bottom lip. 

“Get in,” Carter orders, turning to unlock the truck. 

Connor behaves himself until they get out of the parking lot and onto the main drag. He waits until they get out from under the streetlamps of downtown before sliding over to press up against Carter. He gets a sharp side-eye but takes Carter’s right hand off the wheel and settles it on his knee. 

“Connor.” He squeezes his hand, fingers digging into the meat of Connor’s thigh. 

“Jus’ keep your eyes on the road, babe.”

He leans up to get his mouth on Carter’s ear, the spot behind it, down the tense line of his neck. There’s a hickey left over from the other night just under Carter’s collar and he licks at it, worrying the skin between his teeth.

Feeling bold, he reaches up to undo another button of Carter’s shirt. It’s loose enough to slip his hand inside, feel Carter up. 

Carter’s fingers slide further up Connor’s leg. 

They hit a stop sign and Connor steals a kiss, holding Carter still with a hand on his jaw. It’s late enough that no one’s out. It’s fine if they linger. 

Carter pushes him back with a firm palm to the chest, eyes all swallowed up in desire. “Stay.” 

He supposes they’ll get home faster if he keeps his hands to himself. Even if it is boring. 

Carter absolutely manhandles Connor through the door of their house, shoving him right up against the first wall he finds. Connor groans into the bitting kiss, slips his hand up the back of Carter’s shirt to feel the spread of his shoulders. 

“Wha’d’you want?” Carter asks. 

“All of you, baby.” He rolls his hips just to punctuate his request. 

Carter sighs. “Cory’ll have our asses if we fuck in the living room again.”

“Then you best get me upstairs.”

For a very brief moment, Connor thinks this is going to be the time Carter throws him over his shoulder and carries him but alas, he kisses him again, taking all the air from his lungs, before landing a very encouraging slap to his ass. 

He gets a move on, tugging Carter behind him as he climbs the stairs. Carter doesn’t make it easy, pressing him into the banister every three steps. They narrowly miss a framed picture but Connor can’t worry about that with Carter’s mouth sucking a bruise into his neck. He clings to Carter and hikes a leg up around Carter’s hip as he grinds against him. 

There are still so many clothes between them and he manages to get his fingers coordinated enough to unbutton the rest of Carter’s shirt, shoving it down his shoulders and onto the stairs. “Bed, bed, bed,” he chants, shoving Carter’s hips away from his own. “_Bed_.”

Carter leads them the rest of the way. He wraps himself around Connor, kissing and biting at his lips as he wrestles with Connor’s belt buckle, pops the button of his jeans. 

Connor’s dizzy with desire, can’t stop sliding his hands all over Carter’s naked back and shoulders. He gasps when Carter finds a particularly delicious spot on his neck and kisses a hickey into it. 

“Please, c’mon,” he whispers. “Been waiting all night.”

“You were a brat all night.” He shoves Connor toward the bed. “Interrupting people.”

Connor tugs his own shirt off, kicks off his shoes. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ brat.”

“Don’t you forget it.” 

He crowds Connor until the back of his legs hit the bed and he falls to the mattress easily.

Vladdy bounces when Nikita pushes him back onto the bed, watching intently as Nikita does away with the rest of his clothes. “God, you’re hot.”

Nikita fits his knees to either side of Vladdy’s hips, smiles down at him. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.” He pulls Nikita’s mouth to his, kissing him until they’re both gasping. He scratches his nails down Nikita’s back, dipping his fingertips under the band of his briefs. 

Nikita breaks the kiss and drags his lips down to Vladdy’s chest, his beard pinking up his skin as he maps out a constellation of little bites. Vladdy arches into each one, his skin breaking out into goosebumps when Nikita worries at a spot over his ribs. He tangles his fingers in Nikita’s hair, presses his other hand flat against the headboard. 

He keens when the very tip of Nikita’s tongue slips down over his stomach, circles the jut of his hip. “Can I?”

“Fuck, lyubimiy. You don’t have to ask.”

Nikita pulls Vladdy’s boxers down and off before settling back between his thighs. He slides his hands from knee to hip and Vladdy shivers at the drag of his rough fingers, spreads his legs wider. 

Nikita’s mouth takes its time to follow the same path his hands took, kissing and licking and biting his way to where Vladdy desperately wants him. 

He debates teasing Vladdy, making him wait for more, but he’s just as impatient as his bedmate, apparently, swallowing Vladdy right down. Vladdy starts to arch up into him, but Nikita gets his hands on Vladdy’s hips, pins him in place.

He pulls off. “Behave, or I will tease you all night.”

“That doesn’t sound too terribly bad,” Vladdy pants out.

Nikita smirks. “That’s what you say now.”

“Laying here talking is sort of torture though.” The left side of Vladdy’s mouth tips up in a smirk. Nikita can barely stand it, it’s so attractive.

“How rude of me.” He doesn’t know where he finds it, but god help him if the words aren’t laced with a purr. “Let me get back to it.”

Everyone might think that Nikita is a shut-in hermit man, and they might be sort of right, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to suck Vladdy’s brain out through his dick. 

Vladdy’s whine catches in his throat when Nikita’s tongue does something wicked.

“Fuck me,” Boris whines. “Please, _please _fuck me.”

Taylor flicks his eyes up to where Boris is begging, hollowing his cheeks one more time just to see his whole body tense up against the pleasure. “I can do that.”

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me.”

Taylor smiles to himself as he rifles through the bedside drawer, Boris continuing to ramble about how terrible it is that he’s so good with his mouth. He’s got an arm thrown over his eyes when Taylor settles back between his legs. 

“Not going to look at me?”

“No.”

He huffs a soft laugh as he fits one slick finger to where Boris wants him. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Boris sighs as Taylor’s finger slips all the way in. Taylor leans up over him and grabs his arm, pins it to the bed over his head so he can’t hide. He crooks his finger and Boris’ eyes fly open. 

“There we are.”

He goes slow, _torturously _slow, working Boris on the first finger. He waits until Boris is rocking back against him, until he gets his free hand pressed against Taylor’s chest just because he has to touch him. Taylor pours more lube on his hand before stretching him further. 

Boris tenses, always does, and Taylor gives him time. Gives him kisses along his jaw, down his neck to the hollow of his throat. “Relax.”

Boris pulls Taylor up, takes his mouth for a proper kiss, licking and biting and whining against his lips. Finally, he rolls his hips, urging Taylor on. “Okay, yeah. Please.”

“Please what?” Taylor knows, but he just loves to hear Boris say it.

“Another,” he gasps as Taylor curls his fingers just right. 

Taylor smiles down at him before settling his weight back on his heels, leaving Boris flat on his back, boneless. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You _won’t!”_ Boris shifts, tries to work himself on Taylor’s hand. “God, if you don’t I swear I’ll cry.”

Taylor’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

Boris pouts and Taylor can admit it’s very convincing. He keeps stretching Boris with two fingers, teasing him. Egging him on. 

He whines and groans and lets out the sweetest little breathy sighs, eventually reaching one arm up to grip the back of Taylor’s neck, pull him down into a searing kiss. Desperate.

Taylor gives in, reaching for the condoms he laid out and ripping one open. He’d been so focused on Boris’ pleasure that he almost blocked out just how hard he is, how _ready_. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Boris chants, holding his knees back so Taylor has no problem sliding home.

They both take a moment to breathe and Taylor’s almost overwhelmed by the slick, tight heat of Boris. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Always feel good.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

Boris rolls his hips into each of Taylor’s thrusts, clinging hard to Taylor’s shoulders. His mouth goes slack every time Taylor lights him up and Taylor wants to swallow up every single sound that falls out of his lips.

“D-don’t stop,” he sighs, sliding his palm down along his chest and stomach. He curls his hand around his own dick and let’s Taylor fuck him to orgasm. He tenses up like a vice and Taylor barrels headlong into his own release.

Boris breathes like he just ran sprints, sharp inhales, quick rise and fall of his chest. He made a mess of himself. Taylor knows he likes that kind of thing and he doesn’t hesitate to drag a finger through it, down the ripples of his abs. 

He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Misha sighs against Tony’s lips.

“So are you, though,” Tony pants out in between kisses. He’s still feeling more than just a little fuzzy in the aftermath of the great fucking sex they just had. 

“Who knew that story time at The Bar would lead to such amazing sex, eh?” Misha asks with a little smirk.

Tony hums. “You act like your little bit of naughty there at the end didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I did no such thing,” Misha objects, all faux innocence. “But, you know, if I did, we could recreate it.”

“We could, huh?” 

Misha nods, still holding Tony close. 

“The bit about town magic too?”

“There’s still no such thing, I thought I already showed you that?”

“Well, like you said, maybe I need you to recreate it.” Tony’s eyes flutter closed at the memory, a small smile plays on his lips.

“D’you wanna clean up first?” Misha asks.

“I don’t care ‘bout cleaning up just yet, but I reckon I’d like you in the shower.”

“Love it when you talk redneck,” Misha says, claiming another kiss from Tony.

“Shut up and c’mon,” Tony says, laying his accent on extra thick for Misha’s benefit. Misha laughs as he’s pulled from the bed and towards the bathroom.

The water hardly has time to warm before Tony pulls them under the stream and Misha’s lips to his. He sighs at the sensation of Misha’s hands cutting through the sluice of water to cup his ribcage. “Love your big hands,” he mutters.

“_My_ big hands? Have you seen yours?” Misha asks, running his down to cup at Tony’s ass. He gives a little squeeze.

“Mm, yeah, but I much prefer yours.”

Misha responds by letting his hands roam up Tony’s sides, along his jaw and neck, down the curve of his shoulders. He drags his hands across Tony’s chest as he deepens the kiss.

Tony groans when Misha’s thumbs slide across his ribs, down the flat plane of his stomach. Tony smiles into their kiss. “This is a pretty good recreation.”

“I know, I daydream about it all the time,” Misha replies.

Tony hums. “Tell me more.”

“Don’t wanna talk.” He gets his fingers in Tony’s wet hair, tugs him into another kiss.

“I kinda wanna use my mouth for something else, though.” 

Misha raises an eyebrow and Tony takes that moment to slide gracefully to his knees. “Oh.”

Tony huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, _oh_. Now tell me about your daydream.”

Misha leans back against the cold tile, braces his legs as Tony takes him into his mouth. “This is so much better, though.” 

_**Six weeks later**_

Tony’s learned in the last couple of months that Misha really likes taking photos of him. His camera is out all the time. Casually sitting on the living room table or kitchen counter. Sometimes when they’re wandering the town, not really looking for beautiful pictures, Misha will wear it around his neck so he can hold Tony’s hand freely. 

He still always manages to also take at least ten photos on him, but the hand holding is nice. 

Some days it’s a little unnerving still, and Tony’s tried to get him to stop more than once. Begs him to stop, even.

"Misha. Stop. No one wants to see my face this much."

“First of all, that isn’t true, because I can’t get enough of your face,” Misha says with a smirky little smile. “But fine, go stand by that tree with the turning leaves.”

Tony’s pretty sure that he sneaks in more than one profile shot, but he doesn’t say anything as Misha angles his face just right to catch the sunlight. It isn’t quite so bad later when the book is complete and the royalties start rolling in...but it isn’t really the royalties that make the photos special to Tony, in the end.

//

Boris brings Taylor up onto the hospital roof at twilight. 

Taylor smiles at the picnic that’s laid out on the air handler. “I didn’t have you pegged for quite so romantic.”

“Well, these things take time,” Boris says with a grin and a shrug. 

“Ah,” Taylor says while Boris sits him on his side of the metal box.

“So, I got all your favorites,” Boris starts, pointing at the food. 

“I see that.” Taylor cocks his head. “What’s up?”

“Is that Orion’s Ring?” Boris asks, pointing into the distance.

Taylor looks, Boris takes the chance to pull a ring box out of his pocket. “What? No. And anyway, it’s ‘Orion’s Belt’.”

“Oh, silly me, I meant I have Taylor’s ring right here.” Boris feels nervous and excited when Taylor whips back towards him. “What do you say?”

“I take it back, you’re super romantic.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Boris whines.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Taylor throws his hand out. “Of course. Yes! I want nothing more.”

Boris’ hand is shaking a bit when he pulls the ring out and slips it onto Tayor’s finger. “It’s just a placeholder.”

“It is not.”

“I want to get something better, though.”

“This is absolutely perfect.” Taylor smiles. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Taylor leans into Boris’ space and places his left hand on his chest, his ring picking up a sparkle in the dark somehow. Boris kisses him and they both smile into it. 

//

Vladdy’s gathering up proofs and guest lists and a hundred other papers when he says, “So, I have to go meet Frank about the book and the release party and a bunch of other boring stuff. I shouldn’t be long, he’s found a little bakery not too far from here.”

“I can drive you.” Nikita says from the couch. 

“Oh.” Vladdy perks up. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

They’re already sitting in BouBou’s Bakery splitting a pain au chocolat when Frank walks in. Vladdy stands and brushes the crumbs from his fingers before he offers his hand. They shake and he introduces Nikita.

“You came all the way to literal Nowhere and found a Russian?” Frank asks. 

“Frank is a Russian?” Nikita asks, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s a nickname,” Frank says with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Nikita snips back.

Frank laughs. “You have your hands full with this one, Vlad.”

“Yeah,” Vladdy answers, all dreamily. 

Nikita is disgusted by the look in his eyes. Or, he wishes he was. God, what’s happened to him?

He lets his eyes wander while Vladdy and Frank talk about boring things. Steve Downie is here buying a box of petit fours to-go while his little brother drinks some monster chocolate concoction with the Stephens boy. They’re being almost as sickenly sweet as their drink no doubt is.

Speaking of gross couples, the one that started all this shit has just walked in. Slater Koekkoek is being all loud and bouncing off the walls about ‘their cake’ while Braydon Coburn watches him with a patiently fond look drawn all over his features. He can’t even fathom having that much patience with anyone, because--

“Hey,” Vladdy leans over and whispers in his ear. “That’s how you always look at me.”

Nikita looks over and sees that Frank is missing. “Where did he...I do no such thing!”

“Just the bathroom, and you _do_. So many times a day.” Vladdy reaches and tucks some hair behind his ear, smiles. “Sorry that we’re just as gross as everyone else.”

“This is all your fault.” Nikita tries to frown but can’t bring himself to.

“I know it is, but you wouldn’t change any of it.” Vladdy pulls back, looks a little unsure. “Would you?”

“I’m a little cranky, not an idiot,” Nikita says, pulling Vladdy in for a kiss. He may as well go all in if he’s just as sugary sweet as everything else here. 

They jump apart like a couple of caught kids when Frank clears his throat.

//

“So, how do I look?” Tony asks, walking out of the bathroom. He isn’t looking at Misha because he’s finishing up with his tie, so he’s caught off guard when Misha practically tackles him into the wall. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Tony laughs, looking up at him.

“Or what if,” Misha starts between kisses, “We blow off this party and have fun here instead?” 

“You can’t not go to your own party,” Tony says, even though he may or may not be considering Misha’s offer.

“Vladdy will be there, and Boris. They might not even miss me,” Misha tries.

“Or, you could look at me in this suit all night and think about peeling me out of it later.”

“There is that,” Misha relents.

“Great! I’ll drive!” Tony says cheerfully, heading for the front door.

“Hey, wait.” Misha grabs Tony’s hand. “There’s one more thing I want you to see before we head out.”

“What’s that?” Tony cocks his head. 

Misha smiles at him and grabs an envelope off of the dresser. “I never submitted this particular shot for the book,” he starts, flipping it over in his hands.

“Which shot? Why not?”

“I wanted to keep it for myself. For us.” He holds it out.

Tony takes it, pulls the photo out. “Oh, the day we were swimming, I look like a wet rat.” He laughs nervously.

“You looked beautiful that day.” He cups Tony’s jaw with one hand. “And every day.” He gives a little one-shouldered shrug. “I realized, once I got to St. Louis, that this was the moment I fell in love with you.”

Tony looks up at him, his eyes glassy. Misha smiles. 

“Too many emotions all at once?” He presses his lips to Tony’s in a gentle kiss. “It’s alright, you have some time to process it on the way.” He winks. “I’ll drive.”

“I don’t think it was any one moment with you,” Tony starts. “When I first saw you I wanted you, but that isn’t the same as...it was a bunch of little things, but they all came together into this big thing I didn’t want to ignore the night we were doing dishes.”

“After I loaded your broken dishwasher like an idiot?” Misha raises an eyebrow, Tony laughs.

“It was so...domestic. I’d never had that with anyone.” 

Misha brushes a curl behind Tony’s ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tony leans up, kisses Misha, softly at first before he gets lost in the moment a little. He whines when Misha pulls away.

“I know, but we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. One of us needs to drive.”

Tony grabs the keys with a smile.

“This looks better than I expected,” Misha admits when they walk into the Philip A. Esposito Recreational Center. The room is obviously normally a basketball court, but the decorations are tasteful, classy even. “Frank is truly a miracle worker.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t even smell in here today,” Tony says. Misha crinkles his nose and Tony laughs. “You’re pretty easy to fool for someone so worldly.” He is so pleased with himself that Misha can’t even be annoyed that it was at his expense. 

“I’m going to let that go because I’m lucky enough to have the hottest guy here on my arm.” 

Tony’s cheeks go pink and that’s the shit he lives for. Misha wants to bustle him off to a corner somewhere, and--

“No offense, but I have the hottest guy here on _my_ arm.” Misha looks up to see Connor grinning at them while Carter looks on in resigned amusement.

“Is that so?” Misha asks. 

Connor waves his question away. “That’s a fight for another day. I need to know who was in charge of the guest list.”

“Why’s that?” Tony asks, cocking his head. It’s adorable and Misha can’t get enough.

“My mama is so angry that she didn’t rate an invite to this fancy to-do that I’m surprised you didn’t hear her complaints from every corner of town.” He grins. “I just wanna shake his hand, buy him a drink or something.”

“Well, drinks are included, but Frank is right over there.” Misha points.

“Even better! Catch you later.” Connor gives them a little wave and Carter tips his head at them as they head for the spot where Frank is holding court.

“C’mon,” Misha takes Tony’s hand. “Let’s mingle and look a the artwork some more.”

They mingle to one of the bars and get two glasses of champagne to feel fancy while they walk through rows of photographs. 

“These are all so good. You guys are amazing.” Tony stops at a black and white portrait of Nikita. He’s in his garden, looking out toward the woods. 

“Helps when we’re kind of in love with our subjects.” 

“Shut up.”

Misha links his arm with Tony’s, takes a sip of his champagne. “I will do no such thing.” 

The gem of the show is at the very front by the stage in full color. The Nowhere sky is a blend of burnt orange and pink, a few streaky clouds painted through the colors. It’s all reflected in the still surface of the lake, almost a perfect mirror. The sun is just slipping down below the horizon and it casts the couple in the foreground into complete shadow. It’s gorgeous and Misha’s jealous that Vladdy was the one who took it. 

“Who’s the couple?” Tony asks. 

“You don’t recognize them?” Misha smiles. “I heard they’re quite the celebrity pair ‘round here.”

“Shh, you aren’t fluent enough in redneck to use any of it,” Tony teases.

“I’m not a celebrity,” Slater pops up from somewhere to say. He pulls out a fancy envelope. “Also, y’all should come to our wedding.”

“Couldn’t you have mailed that?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“He said it’s more fun to hand them out in person,” Braydon says, appearing with a couple glasses of champagne. He hands one to Slater.

“It _is_!” Slater insists.

“Yes, babe. I know.” Braydon presses a kiss into Slater’s hair, then nods at the centerpiece with his head. “How much for that print?”

“For you, it’s free,” Vladdy says, walking up with Nikita.

“I can pay for it,” Braydon replies.

“Yeah, but, I consider it already paid for.” He squeezes Nikita’s hand.

“Me too,” Boris chimes in, walking up with Taylor.

“Maybe I don’t,” Frank says from a couple feet away. Misha laughs at the way Vladdy sprints to argue Frank down while the others follow at a slower pace.

“Do you wanna go over too?” Tony asks.

“Nah, I don’t have a dog in that fight.” Misha smiles, leans in for a small kiss. “Come on, I’ll show you my personal favorite,” he adds, pulling Tony towards an artful photo arrangement of trees and one particular brunet, his hand slipping into his pocket to grasp the ring box waiting inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for visiting Nowhere with us, as always. Whatever could these boys get up to next?


End file.
